


Sansual's Kinktober 2020

by sansual



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Body Worship, Bondage, Choking, Degradation, Double Penetration, Edging, Exhibitionism, F/M, Female Reader, Knifeplay, Lap dancing, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Orgasm Denial, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Punishment, Spanking, Suit Kink, dubcon, spitting, sub Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansual/pseuds/sansual
Summary: It's that time of the year again, Kinktober! I'm tossing my own hat in the ring this time to tackle some of my favorite kinks with some of my favorite boys! So fasten your seatbelts and join me for the ride (heh), it's time to B O N E.All oneshots will be reader-inserts, with the title of the chapter being the featured kink of the day. After the work is completed, I'll add in a table of contents.(I started at day 8, oops)
Relationships: Grillby (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader, W. D. Gaster/Reader
Comments: 60
Kudos: 258





	1. Masquerade (Gaster/Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time doing Kinktober (or at least attempting it) and I'm so excited! I hope you all enjoy what I've got in store for you! I'm using [Arcana's Kinktober List](https://arcanakt.tumblr.com/post/625462531212836864/welcome-to-arcana-kinktober-2020-prompts-above) with some sliiight edits and tweaks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet a mysterious stranger at a masquerade ball...
> 
> And he’s eager to get away from this snooty party, preferably with you in tow.

Who _is_ he? 

You can’t shake the question from your mind as you eye the tall stranger across the large, sprawling ballroom. By tall, you mean _tall_ , reaching at least seven feet in height, if not eight. You’ve never been good with guessing heights, but the technicalities of it all don’t matter. He (at least, you think they’re a he, it’s so hard to distinguish when everyone has their face covered) towers over the rest of the crowd, making him so easy to keep track of…

And so hard to ignore. You didn’t even want to be here at first, with your parents practically begging you to indulge them by coming to one of their snooty little rich-friend’s masquerade ball, but when you heard there would be alcohol and cheese you begrudgingly wiggled into the trumpet-shaped gown that’d been sitting at the back of your closet for eternity. You had hit the buffet almost immediately, popping cocktail shrimp like they were Flintstone vitamins and going for the champagne flutes next. 

It was so easy to lose your parents in the crowd, and after all, you were an adult capable of making your own decisions. It was equally easy to notice _him_ , which you did almost immediately. If his height weren’t already a shocker, then you’d have at first been taken aback by the mask. The majority of masks at this event are always just your standard, run-of-the-mill sparkly numbers, but his is so… strange. It’s a traditional Venetian-style, with the nose portion long and hooked, almost like a plague doctor’s. It nearly covers his entire face, and is blacker than the void itself, with minor silver embellishments along the ridges, giving his entire ensemble a polished look. It matches well with his suit, you think, a myriad of monochromatic greys and blacks that’s almost strange at such an extravagant (read: gaudy) event. 

Another thing about this mysterious stranger is that since the moment you’ve noticed him, he’s always seemed to be looking right back at you. As you presently regard him he stares back, face unreadable behind that mask of his. You look to your left, right, and then behind you, as if you may be missing something in this throng of people that perhaps he’s interested in instead, but find nothing. When you take an experimental stroll across the room, you find his gaze still on you. 

You’d be creeped out if he weren’t so impeccably dressed. Swirling your champagne in your glass, you take a greedy sip. This is your second glass, not that it matters to count, and the burning in your chest is comforting rather than daunting.

Fuck it, you’re talking to him. 

Your legs work on their own, moving you through this stuck-up infestation of people. There’s too many of them, but it’s not difficult to keep track of your destination when he stands like a handsome beacon. God, you hate parties, you hate them so much. Why must you be so easily swayed by promises of alcohol and food? 

Perhaps this time you’re grateful for it, because your curious nature is wondering just _what_ this stranger has to offer you, and even if it’s nothing significant, the antipasto table is not far away. 

When you finally reach your target, he’s leaning against one of the Grecian-style columns in the room (Jesus, this place is so pretentious), and if you thought he was tall before, then you have no clue what you’d call him now. Even with your heels on, you barely come up to his ribcage (that is, if he has one). He definitely isn’t human, that’s for certain. His mask suits him well, and even from this close you don’t think you can even see his eyes behind them. There’s only blackness, but you know he _has_ them, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to stare right into your soul from across the ballroom. In his slender, gloved hand is a short glass with some dark amber liquid in it, over ice. Presently he tilts it upwards, angling it to the side of his mask so that he can take a flawlessly smooth sip of it.

Here goes nothing, you think, as he turns to wait for what you have to say.

“So do you only come to these things to drink too?” Really? That’s what you’re opening with? Are you serious? 

But he replies, without a hitch, “Do you count people-watching as an activity too? If you are, then I could say I do _two_ things.” And oh, that is a _deep_ voice. It’s easily the deepest you’ve ever heard, and if the concept of this man weren’t already making your stomach flutter then he certainly would be now. When he speaks he’s so elegant-sounding, even if he just admitted he’s basically in the same boat as you are here. He tips his glass back, taking another swig of whatever stiff liquor he’s got in there. “If I’m going to be corralled into going to social events out of politeness, I may as well get some sort of observation in. It’s a minor study in communication, behavior, culture…” 

“Culture, right. Because these people seem to think that listening to Frank Sinatra makes them cultured.” You blurt out, albeit perhaps in bad taste. You want to feel bad; after all, your parents are somewhere out in the throng, and you just _met_ this man, so you hardly even know what his standpoint is and-

And oh, he’s laughing. The noise is slight, especially considering all the noise around you two, but it’s a clear chuckle, and what you can see of his sharply-angled face (skull?) is curved into a smile. You think he’s a skeleton; at least, that’s what you’d call him based off of the sight of his exposed teeth and bone-like appearance of his jaw. You don’t care that he’s not human; in fact, you’re even more charmed.

He remarks, “My, you’re sharp, aren’t you? And to think I just picked out the prettiest thing in the room to look at.” 

Oh, so _that’s_ why he was staring. Your eyes quickly flick up and down his body, your teeth digging into your lip. His gaze isn’t lecherous, not one that makes your skin crawl or anything of the sort, so you’ll welcome it. You smile at him, casting your eyes to his own beneath your own mask. Part of you wants to ask how exactly he reached the conclusion that _you_ were the prettiest thing in the room, because most of your face is covered and you’re nothing less than uncomfortable in this dress.

He speaks up again suddenly, asking you, “Now, dear, why were you staring at me?” 

“Because you’re really tall.”

“Oh, so you just stare at the tallest person in every room you walk into?” He clicks his tongue, because apparently he has one of those. You catch a glimpse of it under his mask, long and slick-looking and so dark purple that it resembles ink. “That’s hardly polite,” He’s so snarky, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. He’s egging you on, leading you in the direction of admitting the _real_ reason you were looking at him. 

“Okay,” you huff, “So maybe I could feel you looking at me and I didn’t mind that and _maybe I thought you were handsome_. There, are you happy?” 

He definitely looks like he is. His drink’s getting low, and you try to catch up. While you sip your champagne, he prods, “Thought? Past tense?” 

“Think, sorry,” you correct yourself, quickly adding, “Though I can’t exactly _see_ you under… y’know, all of that.” Your accompanying gesture sweeps over his entire body, up his slacks and along his arms to his gloves, and finally up to the mask that conceals his face from you. 

The party whirls so chaotically around you, with the mass conversation, and music, and dancing, all in this loud pool of strangers that you almost miss it when he murmurs, “I could fix that problem, you know.”

And it even takes you a moment to process it. You don’t even know him, let alone why he’s here to begin with if he has such a distaste for parties like this to begin with. But his offer seems fairly clear, especially with that seductive lilt to his tone. You think that if he weren’t wearing a mask, you could perhaps see him arching a brow-bone up at you. He absentmindedly swirls the glass in his hand, and all the while you just gawk at him.

“Wait- you mean-”

He interrupts your gasp, hands gesturing outward and moving accordingly as he explains, “Well, you’re clearly very smart, as well as the most entertaining person I’ve met this evening, and then, it’s not rocket science to know that even without that mask on, you’re beautiful… so yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” When your eyes only widen at his confirmation, he looks directly down at you. It’s a persistent reminder of how tall he is, how much larger he is than you. You aren’t even sure if your _anatomy_ would match up, and yet, you’re intrigued. 

So you listen to him when he adds, “I’d like to clarify, darling, that I don’t usually do such things. I don’t consider myself very spontaneous, and God only knows the last time someone called me anything other than ‘boring’, so it’s rare for me to give into… you know, _impulsive thoughts_.” 

You arch an eyebrow up at him, prompting, “And what kinds of thoughts are you having?”

The tall, handsome stranger laughs, a noise that doesn’t fail to work its way into your ears and down through your chest to your stomach. 

“Thoughts that tell me to take you out of here and lick you raw.” 

Surprisingly enough, that’s all the convincing you need. 

After you give him your consent, he holds a gloved hand out and you take it. Absentmindedly you note how much larger his are than yours, how his fingers alone could wrap around your wrist twice over. You also feel something strange beneath his gloves, something like a hollow under the fabric where his palm is. Granted, you don’t _truly_ know what kind of monster he is, so who knows what his hands even look like. He guides you through the throng of people, while you’re discreetly keeping an eye out to make sure your parents don’t see you sneaking away with some tall, mysterious figure. Oh, you’d never hear the end of it. The two of you manage to get out of the massive ballroom without anyone noticing, though, and before you know it you’re walking under the archway to the foyer of the mansion. 

You ask him, “Are we going to your car?”

He quickly rebuttals, “Darling, you don’t even know my name. Please don’t tell me you ask to get into cars with strange men on a regular basis.” His voice is laced with concern, his mouth in a flat line as he gently scolds you. No, instead of going straight to the door, he pulls you down a hallway off to the side. He’s been here before, you realize, for him to know the house’s layout like this. He eyes each and every door on the hall, seemingly calculating something before making a decision. 

As he has a hand on one of the doorknobs, you ask, “So what’s your name then?” For incentive, you give him your own in the same instance. You watch him mouth it, his tongue flicking over his teeth as he silently enunciates.

And then he tells you, voice strained, “Gaster. Please… call me Gaster.” Before you can respond, he opens the door, pulls you in, and quietly shuts it behind the two of you.

You’re in a closet, you know that much, but a large one, one where your tall companion thankfully doesn’t have to crouch. In here, it’s far quieter, with only the distant crooning of Michael Bublé and the mask on your face to remind you that you’re still at the same masquerade. Almost instantly Gaster’s hands are on you, reaching around to the back of your dress. You know he’s looking for the zipper, so you arch until he can put his fingers on it and tug. 

“Sorry for the forwardness, my dear, but I’m afraid nothing’s going to happen with this lovely number still on you,” he remarks, but you don’t mind in the slightest. You’re relieved to get out of the thing anyway, albeit temporarily, and the feeling of him taking it off for you is surprisingly therapeutic. He hasn’t once stepped on the train of your dress in your exchange tonight, you realize.

You turn to face him, letting your fingers wander up to his jawbone, and tug him down. Your faces are so close together, you can tell as much even in the dark, with the only barrier being your masks. Even with yours still on, your lips are accessible, but Gaster’s situation is a bit difficult. The “beak” portion of the mask bisects his mouth, so it has to go. You don’t think twice about tugging at it, reaching around his head to pull at the tie until it comes undone. If he has any qualms about taking it off, he doesn’t show it, so you do it for him. He starts to tense up, you can feel it, but you don’t let it linger.

The instant he’s free, you kiss him. You aren’t initially sure how it’s going to work, lips to teeth, but thankfully his don’t feel like human teeth do. They’re more malleable, more flexible, like the rest of his skull (because yes, that’s a skull he has, he’s indeed a skeleton monster), and it makes it easier than you imagined. He’s taken aback at first by your forwardness but quickly reciprocates, his hands resuming their unzipping as he presses himself against you with a mild groan. 

Oh, you really like that noise, and you could certainly stand to hear more of that velvety voice in any capacity. Your hand stays on the back of his skull, keeping him in place as you kiss him. He’s skilled, that’s for sure, and what he lacks in lips he makes up for in meticulous touch. That’s definitely how you’d describe the way he just barely sweeps his fingers over the top of your hair, and down to your ear and neck. 

Once he has your dress unzipped, he has both hands free to touch you, but you’re more concerned with actually getting out of your clothes. It takes a moment to get him off of you so that you can do that, but once you start to shimmy the trumpeted portion of the dress down your legs, he gets the point. You already feel so underdressed compared to him, with just your panties on. Of course this dress didn’t need a bra, the one time that you maybe wish that you had one.

As you step out of your dress, letting it stand in its own heap on the other side of the closet, Gaster runs both hands up your figure and hums. “It seems I was correct earlier… you _are_ perfect.” In response you flush, and tug him right back against you. You end up against one of the walls, pinned and reaching for his face again. With careful hands you caress up the bone, up his jawline to his cheekbone… where you immediately feel a rough texture. It’s a line running up to what must be his eye socket, and when you wind your fingers around the socket, you feel that the scar continues through it and upward. Your other hand is already on the other side of his face, reaching up to see- yes, there’s another one on this side, a deeper one that starts out at the top of his mouth. 

_What happened to him?_ You know that’s an inappropriate question, so you won’t ask it. In the meantime you lean up, struggling even on your tiptoes to kiss the edge of one of the scars in a silent acceptance that makes his whole body slump with relief. 

And that’s when you _actually_ see his eyes. They’re barely bright in those pitch-black sockets, so there’s no wonder you didn’t see them in the ballroom, but here they’re the only light in the closet. Just the sight of the violet-colored pinpricks in the dark would probably frighten any human in their right mind, but then again, you never considered yourself right to begin with. You kiss him again, earnestly, and this time when he grabs hold of you, he doesn’t hold back. 

Gaster presses his teeth to your lips like he’ll die if he doesn’t, like you’re the only one he’ll ever kiss in his goddamn life, and it takes your breath away. When he slowly drags his tongue against your lips, you let him in, letting out a moan of your own. It’s exceptionally long, his tongue, and from just the simplest movements against your own you can tell he _knows_ how to use it. Lick you raw _indeed_ , you think to yourself. One of his gloved hands tangles into your hair, the other groping at your thighs, your hips, your ass. 

“You’re _stunning_ ,” he snarls against your lips, his voice hoarse from all the kissing. “Does this- do I- feel good, darling?”

“So good,” you breathe in affirmation, pulling a breathy chuckle from his mouth.

You probably shouldn’t be so turned on by the firmness in his voice when he says, “Just you wait.”

He kisses down to your neck, and you’re already shuddering from the way his breath feels against the base of your throat. His teeth are sharp, you think, they’re sharp and they could bite you and leave a dreadful little bruise that would show up too prominently on your skin… but the more reckless part of your brain actually enjoys the idea of that. But he doesn’t bite you, instead placing a firm hand on the side of your neck as he kisses right at the center of your throat. 

That’s when Gaster kneels to the ground, clearly at a better angle on his knees in front of you, and kisses down to your chest. You can feel yourself blushing, even as you arch your back for him. As he presses a kiss between your breasts, his eyes rove over your skin, over every little detail he can see in the dark, over your already-hard nipples.

He doesn’t hesitate then to drag his teeth over one of your tits and take your nipple into his mouth. The moan that falls from your lips is shameless and thick with need. He certainly doesn’t miss that, his hold on your back tightening as he presses your body into him. The way his tongue flicks over your nipple is mercilessly delicious, and you can’t even help whimpering at his every movement. Gaster puts his hands into action, too, using one to tease your other nipple as the other drifts further down and oh _god_ you could cry at how good he feels when he just barely brushes your slit through your panties. God, his touch is electric.

Withdrawing his tongue in favor of pressing kisses to your skin, he asks, “Oh, is someone already soaking wet for me? Is that what I’m feeling? Precious little thing.” He’s too cocky, too proud of himself, and you’re halfway through calling him a smug fucking tease when he crooks his finger against your clit and has you abandoning your words in favor of gasping. 

But nothing could prepare you for the way you shake and tremble when he kisses lower, down to your stomach. It’s hard to keep still, especially at a pace so slow. He kisses under your breasts, and your ribcage, and beneath your belly-button, and it’s all so strangely _intimate_ that it’s all you can do not to arch and buck your hips and moan like an animal in heat at the sweet, teasing cruelty of it all. Does he know how he’s torturing you? He must, with a smart, snarky attitude like he has. 

Gaster hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, only to let them snap back against your body, and you could kill him. You sneer down at him, but you highly doubt you’re the least bit intimidating, as you still have your mask on and you’re shaking like a goddamn leaf, and how could you forget that you’re practically half his size? 

He just laughs at your anguish, like some kind of fucking sadist, and chides, “Now, darling, be patient…” In the moment of silence he takes he has the audacity to slide his tongue over your clothed pussy, and as you whine with your trembling legs he just breathes, “...It may be worth your while.” 

Patience be damned. Your frustration’s built up to astronomical proportions, such that you find yourself undoing the tie to your own mask and flinging it off to god-knows-where and bending at the waist to grab the man by his skull and tilting him so that he’s looking you right in the face. You know his vision’s better than yours. You know he can see you. 

And with all the resolve you have left in your body you rasp to him, trying not to let desperation leak from your every pore, “Gaster, please.” 

He nods as his skull’s cradled in your hands. “Very well then, dear.”

Your panties are torn down your legs so harshly you think you hear them rip. You can’t fathom having to go back to the ballroom commando, but if Gaster’s ruined them for the sake of ruining _you_ , then so be it. It’s worth it; even if you aren’t yet at the main event he’s proven himself to you in spades.

He helps you to spread your legs and then starts to kiss at your thighs. The skin’s sensitive there, even more so when it’s not lips but instead sharp teeth and tongue you’re feeling. After pressing a particular kiss to your skin, he swipes over the spot with his tongue and licks a trail upward. How _attentive_ , you think as you struggle not to squirm. Even your breaths are coming out in needy little huffs that you know he can hear. You don’t care too much about it; in fact, you think he’s taking pride in the noises you’re making. 

When he finally reaches your pussy you could sigh in relief, but whatever noise you’re considering making is replaced by a gasp at the feeling of his hot breath against your clit. Gaster looks up at you from his position between your legs, and you swear his own eyes convey a neediness just as pertinent as your own. He takes one of his gloves off, just one to go to the pile of clothing beside you, and then sets out to ruin you. 

His tongue swipes at you, all the way up your wet slit and stays there, right at the base of your clit. When he puts more pressure there, almost a coaxing motion with his tongue, your knees buckle and you sigh. One of your hands finds purchase on his skull while the other braces against the wall. You know you’re going to need it, especially when he moves those bare phalanges to tease at your opening. His tongue moves deeper down, deep enough to send every nerve of yours alight as you moan for him.

Briefly, Gaster parts from you, just long enough to growl against the skin of your thigh, his roughened voice making you shiver, “You, my darling, taste _divine_.”

You could honestly keel over from that alone, but you hold out, managing to keep your stance as you lean against the wall. 

He presses two fingers into you and your legs are already shaking. If you weren’t in such a position you’d put your legs on his shoulders, but you’re much more compromised like this, vulnerable and forced to stay upright when all you want to do is fold for him and let him devour you. His phalanges pump in and out of you as he takes your clit into his mouth suddenly, his tongue flicking wildly over you. Oh, and he knows how to mind his teeth, too (though if he bit you, some hidden part of you certainly wouldn’t mind).

Your moans are most likely at an inappropriate volume now, but it isn’t as if you can control them anymore. You can only control your noise as much as you can control your bucking hips. He’s expertly vicious with that tongue of his, making sure that every last millimeter of you feels nothing less than raw bliss as he ravishes you. Gaster adds a third finger, nibbles at your clit, and you’re a quivering, moaning mess.

“I’m-” you try to speak, but your words turn into stammered mewls, “This feels so- Ah, you’re- Fuck- It’s so-” 

His violet eyelights meet your own, and he doesn’t even have to say a damn word for you to know how amused he is. He reaches up with his spare hand, his long arm enabling him to play with one of your nipples while he licks you. As his tongue flicks over you, and his fingers curl into you, and he pinches you, you offhandedly realize that you are _very_ close to cumming. You’re near the point of overstimulation in the best way possible, and he’s showing no signs of letting up. 

Gaster’s tongue covers your entire pussy and then some, a sight that would have you quaking on its own if you didn’t also factor in his hands working your body so expertly. You moan loudly, back hitting the wall as your hand grips at his skull. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. It’s overwhelming to feel this good, it’s sinful to be so elated, but you are _addicted_. 

So addicted you come undone.

You cry out, “Gaster,” his name the only coherent thing on your tongue. Anything else coming out is a babble that you should probably be embarrassed of, and yet, he’s not mocking you or demeaning you. You’re sent over the edge with his name on your tongue, and all the while he’s still licking you, kissing you, cooing at you as you cum.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, and his voice is like a lullaby, alluring and calming all the same, “Cum for me. There, good, so good for me…”

It’s ecstasy in the purest form. Your body spasms, your legs refusing to stop moving until you’ve ridden your orgasm all the way to the end. It’s a wave you never want to reach the shoreline, a mass of heat and electricity and liquified joy that seems to engulf your mind, heart, and soul all the same.

When it stops, you slump. Gaster’s quick to come to your aid, the man standing up fully to wrap a steadying arm around your waist. It takes you entirely too long to stop seeing stars, but he stays still, holding his tongue for the first time all night. You think you feel him kiss the top of your head at one point.

And as you come down from your high, your brain cells struggling to find their footing once again, with this strangely-handsome skeleton you just fucking met holding you and rubbing your back, you hear the unmistakeable sound of a zipper coming undone. 

That deep, silky voice is at your ear again, pressing a kiss to your lobe as he ever-so-smoothly informs you, “And when you’ve caught your breath, my dear, please let me know. The party’s still in full swing, and I am _far_ from finished with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm a sucker for Gaster, but who's surprised at this point???
> 
> If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)!


	2. Spit (Red/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your fiance's had a rough day at work.
> 
> You think it's a good idea to ask him to take it out on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an amalgamation of quite a few kinks, the one for today was "spit" (originally for day 8, but I didn't like any of today's prompts so I took one from the previous day), but then there was another previous prompt for "creampie" which I figured I could work in here pretty easy. Oh, and there's some "daddy" mentions too, just because the entire prompt list I had didn't ask for a daddy kink and that, frankly, was a damn shame. 
> 
> This one's for my friend Kat, because I could honestly make a living out of killing her via Red.
> 
> Here it is, some domestic nastiness with Red! And believe me when I say that it DOES get nasty.

You know something’s wrong with your fiancé the instant you hear the front door slam open and shut. 

Even from your shared bedroom you flinch at the noise, though you know he’d never purposely frighten you. He doesn’t even announce his presence like he normally does; no loud exclamation of “eyyy, where’s my favorite gal at?” or even his comical, more flirty, “daddy’s home!” You put your laptop down, abandoning it on your nightstand in favor of going to see what’s going on with him. Did something happen at work?

Red’s already on the couch, and the expression on his skull is testimony enough to his sour mood. His big shoulders are hunched over, and his mouth is in a massive, angry crease. He glances up to you, and his ruby-toned eyelights look exhausted.

“Hey, sugar-skull,” you softly greet as you bridge the gap between the two of you. The nickname was one you’d started using as a joke when you first started dating several years ago, but now is definitely more endearing, the more you figured out that beneath his rough, hulking exterior, he really is a big softie. He doesn’t _look_ soft today, though. You sink down onto the couch beside him, reaching out to pet his shoulder as you ask, “What’s going on?”

He leans into your touch, but shakes his head, huffing through his nasal cavity, as if he’s aggravated to even talk about it. “fuckin’... incompetent-ass clients, tryna tell me they know their cars better than me. like a’ight, buddy, sure, why don’tcha take _yer_ mechanical engineerin’ degree an’ fix yer own damn corolla?” Red snorts, loudly, his eyelights rolling so hard they just might exit his sockets. 

You move your hand to his back, lightly scratching at his spine and nodding along as he rants. The longer he goes, the deeper his voice gets, giving way to a gravelly snarl.

“listen to this shit, doll, it was like… four’a these bitches in a goddamn _row_! an’ when i say ‘bitches,’ tha’s a gender-neutral term. i don’t care whatcha got in yer pants; if ya come to me to change the oil on yer jacked-to-all-hell f-250, an’ ya start actin’ like ‘m gonna hurt the damn thing, like i don’t change twenty fuckin’ oils a day, like this ain’t what i do fer a goddamn livin’, that’cher _payin’_ me to do ‘cause ya _know_ ya can’t do it yerself, then yeah, yer a bitch! how’a’bout’cha quit’cher cryin’ an’ lemme do my fuckin’ job instead, motherfucker? jeeeesus fuckin’ christ!” 

His mouth is curled up into a nasty sneer, and when you look down, his massive, bony hands are shaking. With the hand not on his back you reach around to grip his fingers in your own. The size difference between the two of you is nearly comical; he’s so wide and heavy-set, even by human standards, and you’re… well, you’re you. His hands dwarf yours by comparison, you dainty, diamond-adorned one nearly swallowed by the powerful bone.

“I’m so sorry, big guy,” you coo, struggling to wrap your arms entirely around his body in a hug. The way Red relaxes in your grip is subtle, but you can feel it, just slightly. He’s always been so touch-oriented, you’ve never had to take a test to know that that’s his love language. Quietly you add, “Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” 

However he chooses to interpret that is up to him, but you’re fairly certain you know how he’ll take it. After all, this love you two have together was formed on two things: laughter, and having both your minds permanently in the gutter. The two of you navigated the sexual aspect of your relationship fairly early on, and while you were surprised to find his monstrous, skeletal body compatible with your own human form, you were thrilled. 

Sure enough, though, Red gives you a side-eye that you know all too well… before sighing, gaze on the coffee table as he shakes his head, “i’unno, babydoll… ‘m worried i’d hurt’cha in the state my brain’s in, y’know? 

Your face screws inward, your head tilting so you can look him in the face with all your confusion. “Red, sweetie, I’ve been fucking you for the past three years. We’ve done our fair share of rough shit; I mean, come _on_ , did you see the stuff we did last week? I can deal with a little pain. You know about my boundaries, we have a safe-word… you know, we’ve got all that set up for a reason.” 

One of your hands travels to cup his jawbone, tilting it to face you in full. Your body’s turned towards him, and he follows suit. “If you really don’t want to, that’s fine, I get that, but I don’t want you holding back all because you’re scared of possibly hurting me. If I thought you would seriously hurt me, without a care to what I wanted, then I wouldn’t be with you. So… yeah.” 

It takes Red a few moments to process, during which his eyes dart from your face to the wall behind you, to your hand on his skull, to the carpet again, until at last he opens his arms, a silent gesture for you to come to him. You oblige immediately, crawling into his lap so he can hold you close to him. His hands slide up your back and to your hair, his phalanges digging straight to your scalp in that comforting way he always manages. Sighing, you breathe him in, and he smells faintly of gasoline. You love sitting with him like this, simply being close. If you weren’t in the middle of a serious proposition, you could close your eyes and fall asleep.

He takes your chin in one hand, tilting you up to face him, expression unreadable. His hold is strong, and hesitantly his thumb rises up to your mouth, swiping over your lower lip.

When he speaks, he’s much quieter than how he usually is, but still so firm. “ya promise you’ll use the safe-word? no matter what, like, doll, if it even _crosses yer mind_ that’cha _might_ wanna call it, then ya better.” 

“I promise,” you whisper back. And as if it makes the promise more legitimate, you find his hand and lock your pinkie with his own. You feel him laugh, a low, gravelly chuckle that eases your nerves. 

But the mood quickly dissolves in an instant when he pulls your face up to crash his mouth against your own. 

It’s like a switch has been flipped within him, as if he was holding this all within him and your level-headed promise was all he was waiting for to release it. Red kisses you with passion and fervor, groaning at just the slightest feeling of your lips on him. Immediately his sharp fangs are nipping at you, too, fangs threatening to break the skin. You let out a whimper of your own at the feeling of being bitten, and he only bites harder before releasing with the promise of a bruised lip later on.

He man-handles you, grabbing roughly at your ass and legs to move you into a straddling position on his lap. With his size, this means you have to spread yourself quite a bit. It used to be a workout, especially when you actually went to _ride_ him, but as the years have passed it’s gotten easier for you. Your body conforms to his lap, flush and tight and a perfect fit all the same. His grip returns to your jaw as he grunts, low and at the back of his nonexistent throat but still carnally enough to make you jolt against him.

Red reaches around and grabs at your hair, hard but not enough to yank your head back. Though it’s rather quick for him to be resorting to roughness, you expect it. After all, he warned you. You whimper at the sharp pain, even more so when he slides his thick tongue along your wounded lips. Your own hands start to wander, fingers slipping down his chest to feel his ribcage through his t-shirt. He snarls again, deeper this time, but before you can move anymore, he uses that grip on your jaw to wrench you away from him.

His eyelights are not nearly as bright as they normally are, and his teeth are bared at you. God, he looks _terrifying_... and you really, really love that. 

And that’s when he growls at you, voice low and hoarse. “dollface... open yer mouth fer me.” 

What does he want with you? How is he going to kiss you if your faces are so far apart? Nevertheless, you obey, opening your mouth and staring directly into his sockets, batting your own eyes at him so innocently. Red stares at you for a moment, eyes locked on your ajar lips and body heaving with hot, hungry lust.

Then he inhales sharply and without any further warning, spits directly into your open mouth. 

Your eyes instinctively widen at the feeling, pleasurably surprised by this new move of his. You can taste him on your tongue, and if that weren’t hot enough on its own, then there’s a thin trail of saliva bridging between your mouths. You watch it thin out before poking your tongue out and swiping it along your lips, licking up what lands.

Whatever hesitancy Red may have had regarding what he just did vanishes the moment he sees that, the moment he watches you lick up his saliva like you’re starving for it. His sockets black out, and in that same instance he’s going for your neck, grasping the side with his hand and gazing at you like he wants to devour you whole.

“ya like that, kitten?” he asks you, voice guttural, “tha’s right, lick it all up. good girl.” 

You have to swallow in order to answer him correctly, and when you do you cough out, “Yeah, daddy, I really do.”

He’s quick to respond,“tha’s my girl. my needy lil’ slut,” though you don’t miss the way his skull faintly flushes at the nickname that he’s all too familiar with. It’s commonplace between the two of you, just a little sliver of your dynamic together, but it always makes you swell with pride to see how he responds to it. His smirk is wicked, his singular gold fang glinting underneath the ceiling light, and it gives you a rush to watch it spread across his face. 

With that, though, Red’s picking you up by your hips and ass and rising from the couch. He’s always able to carry you so effortlessly, always able to keep a hold on you like you weigh nothing. His grip on you is steady and strong, even more so when you wrap your legs around his bony torso. As he walks you to the bedroom you lean up, craning your neck to kiss the parts of his spine that are exposed above the collar of his shirt. You hear him bite back a groan, and give your own hum of satisfaction.

However, he hears this, and snaps at you, “ey now, don’t get all cocky on me, doll. i’m nowhere *near* done witcha.” Oh, if that doesn’t want to make you squeeze your thighs together, you don’t know what will. Presently, though, your fiancé squeezes at your hips where he holds you, commenting, “gotta say, though, i _really_ love these legs’a yers, princess. can’t tell ya enough.”

But just as the sweet little sentiment comes out of his jaws, you reach the bedroom, and it’s an entirely different story. Without any warning he kicks the door closed with his foot, and proceeds to throw you on the bed as if you’re a ragdoll. You’re instantly gasping from both the impact and the adrenaline, body arching off the mattress before you’re even fully settled on it. 

“clothes off. now.” Red commands you with little more than a pointed phalange, and you start stripping. As you pull your shirt off you see him taking his own clothes off, the t-shirt with his auto shop’s logo embellished on it practically flying off of his head and landing in a pile on the carpet. You’re wriggling out of your shorts when you hear the sound of his belt coming undone, and though you don’t know if he’s using it tonight, the clinking noise is enough to send shivers up your body. He’s moving fast, too, which is really something to say for him, considering most of the time he can’t be bothered to do _anything_ quickly. Despite your curiosity, though, you can’t fight the exhilaration shooting through your body. He wants you, and he wants you _now_. He really just may take his frustration out on you. 

But in the time you’ve spent staring and thinking about him, Red’s finished undressing, and when he beelines for the bed, wasting no time to crawl on top of you. Fuck, you’re still in your underwear. You watch his eyelights sweep over your body, lingering on the meager fabric that still remains.

His voice is low when he chides, “i thought i told’ja to undress. what happened, babydoll?” His rough, sharp phalanges trace along the wire of your bra and then down your bare stomach. His pointer finger snags on the lace hem of your panties, which he quickly pulls away from as he prompts, “only explanation i can think of is ya wanted me to tear these off’a ya.” 

But of course, that isn’t up for debate now that he’s said it. This isn’t the first time he’s torn your underwear, and he always buys you replacements, but the thought still makes you quiver as you lay on the bed. You anticipate the jolt and the rip before it comes, though you still jump when he hooks a finger into your bra, right between the cups, and pulls just so that the back clasps break with just a tug. Your eyes instantly widen and you gasp, but that isn’t anything compared to when he drags the sharpened, clawed bone of his finger right down the center of your panties. The lace slices as if he’d just used a pocket knife on it, and with that, you’re exposed. 

His eyes rove over you, a gesture that would make you squirm if it were anyone else. This time, though, when he regards you laid out, he lets out a long, low, “fuuuuck,” a noise that’s so genuine that it never fails to make you blush. “my perfect lil’ kitten… gonna take daddy’s cock so good, aren’t’cha?”

You nod, and without further ado, he presses his bony form against yours, the massive bones heavy against your skin. He’s built much broader and stronger than a human skeleton, something you’re grateful for, as you can definitely rely on his resilience more, and when you’re in positions like this, you’re free to pull and grab him however you please. You hook your hands into his ribs, already spreading your legs wide for him. His cock’s already throbbing against your thigh, too, so hard that you’re a little intimidated by it.

Red leans down, his skull pressing against your forehead and his breath hot against your mouth. “so here’s the thing, sweetheart... normally i’d get all between yer legs an’ eat that sweet lil’ cunt’a yers til yer legs were shakin’ fer me…” As he trails off, putting you in even more suspense than you already were, he moves one of his hands from your hips up to your breasts. He grabs one of them in his bony palm, squeezing harshly and making you yelp, “...but’cha see, dollface, ‘m feelin’ _real_ selfish tonight…” he pinches your nipple, eliciting a whine from your mouth, which in turn makes him chuckle to himself. He rolls a bony thumb over the pert little bud, making you arch, just as he tells you, “...an’ all i want is to fill my girl’s perfect lil’ pussy wit all my cum. how does that sound, princess?”

You can’t even properly respond to that, only capable of trembling beneath your skeletal lover and moaning because he has your other nipple in his fingers and he is squeezing you _mercilessly_ but dear god does it feel so good and his words are like honeyed venom altogether. You can feel his other hand wandering from your hip, down to your exposed cunt, brushing the phalanges against your skin while you shudder and shake.

He just grins wider, cooing patronizingly at you while he rubs you, “aw, my lil’ doll’s all soakin’ wet fer me. i’ve jus’ been playin’ witcha, an’ yer already ready fer my cock?” He raises his fingers up to his mouth and sticks his tongue out, beginning a vulgar display of licking your wetness off of his phalanges that’s so depraved you just can’t look away from it. The groan he makes to accompany the gesture is enough to make you clench around nothing. With the way he’s acting, he just may be right about you being ready for him. 

Red moves back, just enough to position himself at your slick opening. His cock’s thick, and if you hadn’t been with him countless times before you’d be afraid of him fitting. He keeps one hand on your neck, squeezing just hard enough to give you a rush. All he has to do is nudge his cock against you and you’re digging your teeth into your bruised lip. 

When he starts to push into you, he exhales, hissing out of his teeth with a near-pained expression on his skull. You’re already crying out, a ragged moan falling from your lips from just the first inch or so.

His crimson eyes locked on your face are haunting, blood-red and raw and fiery with pleasure as he thrusts further. Your back arches off the bed, and the hand on your neck progresses up to your jaw.

“thaaa’s it, kitten. take it. every. last. inch,” Red snarls at you, and you just nod breathlessly. You’d be able to say something if he hadn’t been yanking on and manhandling you so torturously good for the past few minutes, something smooth like ‘yes, daddy,’ to make him feel just as good as you do. You feel blissfully full, even more so when he completely sheathes himself in you. The both of you lock eyes, bodies heaving and gazes wide at the unadulterated pleasure of being fully together. 

And when the euphoria has set in, when your breath is close enough in sight for you to catch, he exhales, gripping your jaw tight, and tells you again, “open yer mouth fer me.”

This time, you don’t hesitate. You’re shameless, sticking your tongue out as far as it can go, much to his delight. He grins as he does exactly what you’re expecting, spitting into your mouth for a second time before immediately leaning down to kiss you. The two of you moan together, lips pressed to teeth, his slightly-sweet saliva on your tongue, and that’s when he starts to move inside of you.

And oh, he’s instantly at a punishingly quick pace. You can’t control the gasps that come out of your mouth when Red thrusts in and out, his cock sliding in and out of you easily due to how turned on you are. It’s impossible not to be, when he’s grabbing you and fucking you so viciously good. Every time he sheathes himself the two of you groan together, a high-pitched moan along with a low, gravelly snarl that could alone send you over the edge from the warmth it brings to your chest. 

He huffs to you, breath heavy, “ya… ya feel so good, dollface.” He’s hilting himself every time now, his pelvic bone slapping against your skin so hard that you’re sure to bruise. “so perfect. so fuckin’ wet. god, fuck.” 

His hands on your hips curl inward, the phalanges threatening to break the skin. You know it can be done, he’s done it before, and after all, he did just cut through your panties like they were a candy wrapper. You feel them digging into you, a blissful kind of pain, one that has you whining and close to orgasm when coupled with the way he’s fucking you. Red hits the right angle every time, drawing moan after moan from you while he fucks you.

“Red,” you cry out for him, near-delirious with pleasure, and he doesn’t relent in the slightest. He thrusts faster, harder, _deeper_ somehow, and you could sob from the sweet, hot burning you feel coursing through your whole body. 

“there ya go, sweetheart,” he tells you knowingly, skull flushed, “cum on my cock so i can fill ya up.” 

That’s all the coaxing you need. With your fiancé’s command, you finally cum, clenching around his dick mercilessly tight as you whine for him. Your back arches off the bed, and as Red catches you around the waist he’s finding his own orgasm, releasing into you with a primal growl. The two of you reach your peaks together, grasping for each other wherever you can reach in a desperate, yet raw cacophony of groans.

It’s just as he said he would. You feel the familiar, comforting warmth of his cum shooting into you, which only serves to make you whimper and squeeze around him even tighter. Your legs are tight around his torso, though you don’t remember when you wrapped them around him, and one of his hands is anchored in your hair, gripping tight. 

For a few moments you stay like that, huffing and breathing and gazing at each other with an exhausted, relieved sort of love. Red’s eyelights are dilated, big and fuzzy and soft, and all you want to do is bring him to you and kiss him between his sockets. It takes much more strength than you’d expect, but you suppose that’s explainable when you just got railed into next week.

Your lips are on his skull when you hear him sigh, “i love ya, doll. love ya so much.” 

It takes no thought for you to murmur it back to him.

Gradually, slowly, then, he pulls out of you, his cock coming free easily, considering how slick you still are. You know he came quite a bit inside you, and you won’t complain in the slightest. That reminds you, though…

“Thanks for turning me into a jelly-filled donut,” you quip, smile still on your face. 

The big skeleton just snorts at you, laughing breathlessly in a way that still gives you butterflies every time you hear it. “anytime, princess…” but it’s then that when he actually leans over to look at the mess he’s made, he balks. “oh, uh… we, uh, prolly shoulda put a towel down er somethin…heh, what’re yer thoughts on shoppin’ fer new bedspreads?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps the end was a little rushed, but I digress. I really hope you enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to putting out tomorrow's chapter!!
> 
> If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)!


	3. Oral Fixation (Sans/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have an oral fixation, a constant need to have something to suck on.
> 
> Luckily, your boyfriend is more than happy to help with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, now this one's actually soft. A much sweeter, more casual piece for today's prompt. I thought it'd be a cool twist to give reader the oral fixation as opposed to whoever they were paired with, y'know?
> 
> Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy some Sans action!! <3

“again? you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m being completely serious,” you reply to your boyfriend, pout evident on your face. He props himself up in bed a bit, causing you to shift a bit from your position with your head in his lap. You’ve already got a finger hooked into the band of his sweatpants, and you’re adamant on your request. It doesn’t really matter to you that you literally just sucked him off, that he’s had his pants back on for maybe ten minutes. Of course you’re serious about wanting to give him head again.

But he can’t be serious for a moment in his life.

“hey ‘being completely serious,’ i’m sans.” He shoots back, and you could smack him upside the skull. That fucking shit-eating grin of his, you swear… but then again, you can never complain too much about it, considering it’s one of the things you like best about him. You’ve always been drawn to the happy-go-lucky skeleton, with his corny sense of humor and the pure joy he seems to bring with him wherever he goes. 

Of course, the more you got to know him in your relationship, the more you saw that he definitely wasn’t all smiles all the time, but you’ve always understood that. After all, you have your own share of issues as well, issues he’s more than welcome to accommodate...

...which comes in handy immensely, considering one of them is that you basically constantly have to have something in your mouth. It’s a little quirk of yours you’ve always had; when you were younger, it was pencils, and hard candies. Lollipops have always been a good go-to. During a short stint, you thought one of those little vape pens could help, and it did, up until you realized how stupid you looked. And since you started dating Sans, well...

“Pleeease,” you elongate, sticking your lower lip out more. “You’re a monster; you don’t even have a refractory period! That’s like, a blowjob goldmine for you, you know that, right? It’s a win-win situation for the both of us, you lazy dork!” 

He reaches down to put a bony hand on the side of your face. His touch is gentle and welcome, always so soothing. You’ve dated a few guys before, but Sans is by far, the best cuddler. He wasn’t overly affectionate at first, afraid of pushing too far and new to the idea of dating someone, but god, how you’ve loved the progression of him opening up and getting to be as touchy as you both wanted. 

When he smiles down at you this time, though, he looks nervous, hesitant. “you’re sure that you like… actually wanna do this, right? y’know, i know ya have this thing with wantin’ somethin’ to suck on all the time, but ya know how i am, babe. anxiety and all. worried i’m pushin’ ya every time i say i want somethin’. i just… dunno, i wanna make sure that you really-”

But you cut him off, exclaiming, “Oh my god Sans, you’re not _forcing me_ to do anything. I _want_ this. I’m literally telling you right now that if I don’t get your dick in my mouth right now, I just might _die_.”

Sans just laughs, evidently swayed and convinced by your outburst. It was easier than you expected to pull him out of his worry rut, thank goodness. He ruffles your hair in its messy bun, sitting up further and leaning forward in the bed so that he can plant a kiss on your forehead. “alright, alright. my little drama queen, heh. well, if your _life_ is on the line, then i _guess_ i can do the hard labor that is taking my pants off for you. i’m already sitting up, so yeah. won’t be too strenuous.” 

Was- was that fiasco all just because he was too lazy to take his pants off? You take his anxiety seriously, especially when it pertains to the two of you, but this idea is most certainly not outside the realm of possibility for your homebody boyfriend. You fix him with a scrunched nose that he just grins wider at, his cheeks flushing a faint denim-blue color. 

He pulls his sweats and boxers down in one go, and his cock springs free. You could drool at the sight, despite just seeing him like this not too long ago. God, and he’s already hard. You adore Sans, inside and out, but one thing in particular you’ve definitely grown to appreciate is just how _pretty_ his cock is. An extended manifestation of his magic, it’s a faintly-luminescent blue that never fails to leave you in awe. Yes, human men can try their best, but you don’t think you could ever go back to something so plain-looking when you have something that looks like a goddamn blue raspberry sucker.

Sans quietly asks, “hey, what’s up?” and then it occurs to you that perhaps you’ve been staring a little too long. You think you know how to recover from your embarrassment, though. 

You look him dead in the sockets and reply, as if you’re in utter, complete amazement, “Whoa, nice cock.”

And you both lose your shit.

He clearly isn’t expecting it, but he gets the reference instantly, bursting into a fit of laughter as he holds your face in his hands. You can’t help yourself either, giggling uncontrollably with one hand still half-around his cock. It wasn’t the smoothest, that’s for sure, but you feel warmth blooming in your chest at the idea that you really can just joke around with him like this, even when his pants are down.

“oh god,” he sighs, recovering from the laughing fit. “i just might have to take you down to the courthouse for that one, hon.”

You know he’s probably kidding, so you don’t take him up on his offer, and instead focus on sucking him off. You waste no more time wrapping your hand around him in full, barely able to get your fingers around him because he’s so thick. Instantly he’s sighing, ever so receptive to your strokes, and probably still sensitive from doing this exact same thing just minutes before. It’s so rewarding to hear him be so vocal, especially considering how hard it was at first to get him to make any noise at all.

You can’t even take it anymore, and kneel in front of him to take his cock into your mouth. He feels slightly glassy against your lips, and tastes like practically nothing. The relief you feel when you start sucking is enough to relax both your body and your mind. You can feel yourself easing, legs and knees pressing into the mattress with a new lack of tension. It’s just what you needed. 

As soon as you start to lick him, he groans, “oh _god_...” and you feel a swell of pride within you. Your tongue flicks over the head of his cock, lingering on him just enough to make him squirm. All the while your lips are tight around his dick, puckered slightly to avoid grazing him with your teeth. 

His phalanges work their way into your hair, digging into your scalp as you suck him off. You take inch after inch into your mouth easily, only having to strain your jaw a little bit to accommodate his size. While he’s not the longest, Sans has a thickness that you’d expect from looking at his stocky build. You manage to take all of his cock into your mouth, sucking as if you didn’t just do this same thing before. You can’t help it, though, you suppose. It’s something akin to addiction, how comforting it is to have his dick in your mouth.

When you start to move faster, you feel him tense up. His bony hands tighten in your hair, and he starts to thrust into your mouth. Oh, he’s already close, you know it. You can tell. He’s cute, though, so shamelessly flustered the closer he gets to cumming. You run your tongue all the way up his length as he’s in your mouth, and you manage to smile even with your lips wrapped around him. With every downward bob of your head, he hilts himself in your mouth, groaning more and more each time. You suck harder, moaning around him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

With that last little noise, though, he’s bucking his hipbones, pelvis brushing your cheeks every time you deep-throat him, grunting out, “fuuuuck, babe, i’m-” And before he can finish his sentence he’s reaching his orgasm, releasing into your mouth with a sudden thrust. Your own eyes roll back from how good it feels, from the warmth of his cum shooting down your throat. You swallow happily, almost greedily, eyes locked on his all the while.

He’s a flustered mess on the bed, entire face practically blue while he comes down from his high. His hands are shaking, the sweet thing, and all you can do is look up at him with all the love and adoration in the world. You love watching him like this, watching him relax back into the bed as he recovers from what _you’ve_ done for him. Along with getting your own reward out of it, you do take pride in making him unravel like he does.

After a moment, he breathes, “god. dammit. you really know how to suck the soul outta me, huh?” 

All you do is laugh in response. Sans grins at you, chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. That doesn’t stop him from spreading his arms open, making grabby hands at you to come cuddle. With a soft smile, you pull his sweats back up over his pelvic bone for him, and start to crawl up his body so that he can hold you like he wants. He really is just a big, bony teddy bear, you think to yourself as you lie down on him. He nuzzles his skull into your hair, and even then you can feel him beaming.

But just to make him balk, you quietly murmur, “So I’m good for another ten minutes. But after that… round three?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just,,,, I love me some cute Sans, okay? Some cute domestic Sans with meme references mid-sex??
> 
> If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)! I'm so grateful to all of you for reading this!


	4. Bondage (Grillby/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your boyfriend has a... peculiar way of taking out his stress after work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this took me ALL DAY to write, but I'm honestly super duper proud of it and I think this is one of my favorite days so far this kinktober!! We could all use some high quality Grillby love... and bondage.

Having a bartender for a boyfriend definitely has its perks. To state the obvious, there’s the free drinks. Why would you go out to some other bar for the night and fork over fifty dollars when you can sit where you’re comfortable and get a better-quality drink, made by someone who cares about you, for nothing? 

Grillby’s talented, that much was obvious from the very first time you saw him at work. He’s so meticulous, with an eye for creativity that you admit you envy sometimes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him make a bad drink, or even a subpar one. Watching him mix drinks is therapeutic, too, to the point where you’ve spent many a night just sitting at the far end of the bar, gaze dazed and wistful on the fire monster.

However, the one thing that you _don’t_ like is waiting for the bar to close each night. The both of you value your alone time together immensely, which is why the long hours can become tedious and torturous. 

You’ve asked him a few times before if he’s ever thought about hiring anyone else, just to make the shifts bearable, but he always shakes his head, saying something about liking being independent and not wanting to make a whole company out of the ordeal. You’ve even offered to help him yourself, but the most he’s let you do is deliver a few drinks and jot down an order or two. Part of you wants to feel bad for him, but on the other hand, he manages things so well, and the bar’s basically packed every night. He always seems so happy, too, so content with how things are.

You know, if you weren’t _his_ , you’d wonder how Grillby channels all that stress and frustration that comes with running a bar all on his own. 

But you know better.

Presently, it’s ten past closing, and he’s doing his best to get the last customer or two out. He’ll never actively kick someone out of the bar, he’s simply too polite for such things, but he _did_ announce ‘last call’ over thirty minutes ago. Everything’s already cleaned, the floor swept, the bartop sanitized… and these two patrons are still nursing their martinis, none the wiser.

You’d think they’d get a clue, considering it’s 1:10 in the morning and the sole employee is putting away the broom.

“You know you don’t have to just sit there, love,” Grillby tells you when he wanders over to you, propping his elbow on the bartop as he regards you. “I figure you’re bored out of your mind.” His voice is so quiet, like smoke wafting through the air, but you’ve trained yourself to listen for it amidst the classic rock that’s playing through the bar.

He’s right, you know as much; after all, your shared apartment is just past that “employees only” door and up the stairs. But you don’t want to leave him, and you know your presence comforts him. He’s told you so several times before.

“I know,” you simply reply, reaching out to run your fingers over the crook of his elbow. Your fingers brush his rolled-up sleeve, and you relish the feeling of his natural body heat against your skin. 

Grillby’s corporeal form is hot, obviously, but not enough to burn you. It was a point of curiosity, when you first met him, if he’d hurt to touch. That was before you learned that he himself isn’t capable of burning anything, that he has to actively use his fire magic to set fire to something. 

You curl your fingers around his forearm, gripping the lean muscle there. He’s always been muscular, in a lean sort of way, though you’re not sure how exactly a fire monster has muscles. “Maybe I just want to be with you?” You reply, pouting a little as you rub at his arm. “I’m just a little ready to, y’know, get upstairs with you. And it’s a shame you’re a little _tied up_ right now.” 

Oh, he definitely doesn't miss that little joke you made. If he had eyebrows, he’d be arching one up at you, but instead he just lowers his glasses down at you, fixing you with stern, white-hot eyes. His voice is still so quiet, just a lovely, gentle rasp, but you can hear the hard undertone to it.

“Keep making shitty puns like that, sweetheart, and I won’t be the only one _tied up_ tonight.” With that he just barely grins at you, the crevice of a mouth he has opening up and widening in his own amusement. 

You at least wait until he’s turned around to snark, “Oof, that puts me in a real _bind_.”

Grillby doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said, but you can see the knuckles of his fist tighten around the cleaning rag he’s been carrying. 

So naturally, you double-down and call out, “Sorry, handsome, I’ll leave you alone. I can see you’re _roped_ into something.” 

The beautiful, wavering flames that make up his hair shoot upwards, a cascade of amber sparks flying about. The bar patrons are none the wiser to his body language, but you know him better. To you, Grillby’s an open book, and oh, you’re definitely in for it later.

Later comes sooner than you think. The remaining customers close out their tab a few minutes later, and before they can even make their way out of the dining area, the neon “OPEN” sign at the storefront is being turned off. 

The sign bulb is still hot when Grillby grabs your hand and practically yanks you off the barstool. “Come on,” he commands, a near-snarl on its way out of his mouth, “since you want to go upstairs so badly.” 

Oh, fuck, he’s pulling you to the apartment. Oh boy.

He’s gentle with you on the stairs, of course, because even in his roughness he’s one of the most caring and conscientious men you’ve ever met. You take each step quickly, though, your hand in his the whole time. You love the warmth of his touch, the heat of his fingers intertwined with your own as he squeezes you tightly. 

He fumbles for a moment with the keys, during which you creep up directly behind him and wrap your spare arm around his waist. You press your body against his, sighing to yourself at the comfort that is hugging him. Regardless of what’s about to happen between the two of you, you love touching him, love giving him affection after a long evening of work. 

With the key in the door, Grillby looks back at you and mumbles, “Oh, so you think you’re just gonna cuddle up to me after sassing me down at the bar earlier? You were in for it before, love, but you definitely are after that stunt.”

You just press a giddy little kiss into his back, your lips grazing him through his button-down work shirt. 

But that’s when he gets the apartment door open, and pulls you in without another word. The door slams shut, but before you can make your way over to the bedroom, you’re moved in the opposite direction. Grillby pins you flat against the door with a singular hand around your wrists, his gaze penetrating straight through to your soul. His expression is so stern, so frustrated, a culmination of the night’s stressors that can no longer be held back. _Fuck_.

He’s on you in an instant, mouth practically slamming against yours where you’re pinned. You kiss him eagerly, wantonly, pressing back against his flaming pseudo-lips the most you can from your restricted position. 

It seems he has a thing for restraining you, but you already knew that. 

You can feel heat all over you, not merely from where Grillby’s touching you, but within you as well. As your boyfriend presses his body against yours, wedging a knee between your legs and spreading them, your heart starts to race. Your chest burns, much like his whole body does, and when he groans into the kiss you doubt that such a fire in you will ever go out. 

It’s always so good to kiss him, to feel his flames licking against your skin and to feel magical sparks shoot off from his fire as a result of his excitement. It’s never hot enough to burn you, even when you feel like he’s so feverish that he might. He’s more careful than that, always.

You whimper against his mouth, and it only causes him to kiss you harder. That knee of his drags up the wall, parting them further and causing you to tremble with knowledge of its destination. Sure enough, it’s as he’s taking your lower lip into his mouth and sucking that his knee reaches the apex of your thighs. You’re already shaking, but you can’t help the full-body shudder that rattles you when the blunt, hard feeling of his slack-clad knee rubs up against your pussy through your shorts. 

“Grillby…” you whine, parting from his mouth just enough to say his name, but he isn’t having it. He chases your lips with his own, capturing you again in a relentlessly passionate kiss that makes your knees buckle and your toes curl. God, how is he able to make you feel this way from head to toe every time? It isn’t fair, not in the slightest. With your hands still pinned and your head against the door, you’re helpless to his every tantalizing touch. 

Your breath hitches when he rubs you, and you want nothing more than to rut and grind against his leg. When you start to, though, he’s quick to put a stop to that as well, reaching down with his free hand to grab your hip and staple it to the door with his iron grip.

“Nah-ah,” he sighs, voice still so soft in the sexiest way possible, “You don’t get to move. Not unless I say so. In fact…” And with that, he’s reaching around to pick you up by your ass, “...let’s just go ahead and make sure you _can’t_ move, what about that, dear?” 

And with that, he’s taking you to the bedroom. You cling to him tightly as he carries you, hands on his biceps. He keeps his gaze on you the whole time, simmering white eyes boring into your own as he totes you in an effortless grip. His fiery hands feel delicious against your ass, the warmth digging into you in just the right way.

After shutting the bedroom door behind him, undressing you, and gingerly placing you down on top of the bed, Grillby goes for the rope. 

You knew it was coming; it’s a common part of your post-work play together, and this evening you’ve been _dying_ for it. You know he has too; after all, that last couple at the bar were clearly testing his patience quite a bit. It’s only natural for him to want to decompress from all that, and you’re more than happy to help him do so. 

As you watch him rifle through the bottom drawer of his dresser, you relax against the quilt atop your shared bed. The fabric of his shirt strains across his shoulder-blades while he moves, and you want nothing more than to see him without it tonight. You know you will, in time, but the impatience still gnaws at you. 

You can’t help but be in awe of him, still starstruck to this day by his handsome form. He isn’t just handsome, he’s _beautiful_ , in every sense of the word. What else would you call a 6-and-a-half foot tall man made purely of golden, everlasting fire? He’s ethereal.

Grillby makes his way back to you, the familiar coil of black silk rope looped in his hands, and regards you with a warm, but still concentrated smile. An overwhelming part of you wants to lean up and kiss him, but you know he doesn’t want you to move, so you stay, smiling and obedient as he works at your wrists. 

Your left wrist is first, to the upper bedpost. He’s meticulous with the rope, expertly winding it from the post and back, making sure the pressure isn’t entirely on one point of your arm. As he ties the first knot, he eyes you, watching your face for any discomfort. 

He asks, “Does that feel okay? What color?” Of course, he reminds you of your system as he’s getting you rigged. It’s a simple and common one, easy to remember: green to indicate that everything is good and fine, yellow to indicate something needs to be fixed and to be cautious, and red to demand a full stop.

You’re quick to reply, “It’s fine. Green.” 

“Good.” 

He leans down to press a kiss to the bound wrist, right at the heel of your palm, and then starts on the other wrist. It’s tied just as easily, with him tugging on the knot and making you confirm the color as still being green before moving on. He works fast, you’ll give him that, while still being so careful. The whole time he ties, his gaze never leaves your face.

At one point, though, as he’s binding your ankles apart, he wraps the rope right against your Achilles tendon, and the subsequent knot is immensely tight.

Instantly wincing in pain, you’re hissing out, “Okay, uh- yellow? A little looser on that one.” 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Grillby’s immediately on it, quickly slipping his fingers in the coil he’s made to loosen it. He gives the rope a little more slack, then looks up to you. “Is that any better?”

“Mhm,” you chirp happily, “green.”

And with that, you’re fully tied. 

Your boyfriend steps back for a moment to admire his handiwork, as if you haven’t done this a hundred times together. You have to admit, it feels _good_ to be so vulnerable and naked before him. The way his burning-hot gaze flicks over you is addicting, making you squirm in your restrained position on the bed, but god, are you obsessed with the hunger in his eyes, the unyielding desire that courses over Grillby’s body and out via the sparks his flames emit. When you arch your back, your chest rises, and you watch his fingers twitch as if to reach out to touch your exposed breasts. 

“You’re… you’re so beautiful, really, dear,” he rasps, face beginning to turn blue in the middle from the increased heat forming within him. Pushing his glasses up further on his face, he praises you again, “I have to say, every time I see you like this I’ve gotta ask myself what I did to get a goddess like you in my bed.”

He may be the one in power right now, but dear god if you don’t feel adored. 

When he starts to take his clothes off, he does so slowly, making you watch him all the while. It’s agonizingly slow, the way he unbuttons that white dress shirt of his. It’s a wonder how he keeps it so clean while running the bar every night, but it’s a sexy feat nonetheless. 

He doesn’t even take it off, merely leaving it unbuttoned on his body, sleeves still rolled up as he starts to go for his pants. The thin leather belt he wears clinks undone, and though you eye it suspiciously, he just smiles at you and throws it off to the side. Your gaze flicks down to his slacks, which he unbuttons and unzips promptly. The pants fall down to his ankles, which he steps out of after kicking his shoes off. 

In just his boxer-briefs, grey and clinging to his body, Grillby climbs on top of your restrained body without further ado. When you stiffen, in tense suspense of what he’s about to do, he only tilts your chin up to look at him.

His face is right against yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body. It’s as if you’re just a smidge too close to a standard campfire, but you aren’t afraid. You want his bright, welcoming warmth to envelope you, to consume you and swallow you whole. 

“Darling…” Grillby drawls to you, slowly, voice a deep, smokey rasp that you just want to breathe in again and again for the rest of your life. His knee’s between your thighs again, close enough to rub you right where you’re most sensitive, but he isn’t going to. “...Tell me what you want me to do.” 

His gaze is challenging; he knows you can have trouble with your words sometimes, especially in the bedroom, and yet here he is, refusing to make a move until you speak. 

It takes you a moment, to formulate the words you need to tell him, but you manage to lock eyes with him and tell him, “I want you to fuck me. Please?”

Luckily, you don’t have to beg any more than that.

“I think I can arrange that,” Grillby replies.

“You think?” You prompt, arching a brow up at him. But he just laughs to himself and leans down again to kiss you. Your mouths meld together perfectly, the both of you softly moaning at the sheer intimacy of it all. 

However, you can’t kiss for too long before he’s moving his fingers down to rub at your pussy. The heat of his fingers is so comforting, so soothing, while at the same time being tantalizing enough to make you squirm beneath him. You’re immediately whimpering at just the brush of his fingers against your clit, and he only presses them against you firmer.

“Fuck,” you gasp against his mouth. You want to be able to grab him, to wrap your arms and legs around him and keep him pressed to you, but you’re incapable of doing that currently. Absentmindedly you tug on the restraints, but thankfully they don’t budge. He’s always really good with his knots, making it so that they don’t come undone unless you pull at them the correct way.

Grillby notices your movement, though, and as he presses his fingers against your dripping-wet opening, he murmurs to you, “What color, love?”

“Green,” you rasp back, earning a nod in affirmation. 

“Good girl.” 

He pushes three digits into you, instantly causing you to arch backwards and gasp. Even just his fingers make you feel full, and the warmth they emit from within you is heavenly. 

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, nor the way you attempt to spread your legs further despite your bindings. Your thighs can go out a little, but your ankles are forced to stay in their place. Even so, you buck your hips, trying to press against his fingers even more. 

He just pumps into you further, mouth lowering to your neck to tease you even more. Oh, he _knows_ how sensitive your skin is there, that smug-ass- Fuck, he’s kissing your neck, _fuck_ , that feels so nice. You moan even louder, and he moves his fingers faster.

Grillby smiles teasingly at you, spurring you on with his words, “There you go. You’re so adorable when you’re like this, aren’t you, darling? All tied up for me, so helpless and needy for me. That’s it, take my fingers. My beautiful girl.” 

He reaches his thumb around to rub at your clit, eliciting an embarrassingly lewd noise from your mouth that seems to amuse him. Yet his fingers move faster, and the kisses he presses against your throat are feverish with his own need. 

It’s a blessing to have a boyfriend who loves to please you as much as Grillby does, but this also means that as he gets you off, he himself gets off. You consider it a compliment in the purest, rawest form; however, it’s only a matter of time before he needs his own relief. 

Sure enough, in a matter of moments, the handsome fire monster is panting against your skin, with the flames that make up his body only growing hotter and wilder. You watch him on top of you, eyes sweeping over his half-naked body, over his chiseled chest that’s only partially exposed from his open shirt, over the obvious bulge in his briefs, and over the light blue flush on his cheeks. 

You could say something teasing, but before you even have the chance to think about what to say, he’s beating you to the punch.

Grillby looks down at you, eyes fuzzy with his own flustered need, and says, “It feels like someone’s all ready to take my cock… what do you think, princess?” 

You don’t have to think to reply, “Please, Grillby…” your voice sounds dazed, probably from how teasingly delicious his fingers felt inside you, and how his kisses make you deliriously dizzy. 

He gets his boxers off, tosses them off to the side, then moves to position himself, using one hand all the while to keep your body lifted off the bed far enough. You shift your weight to help him, though he already has you around the waist and is a long-term expert at moving and handling your body.

His other hand’s on his cock, lining himself up with your pussy. Grillby’s dick is, like the rest of him, made of fire, but a solid and tangible kind that’s more human than anyone would expect the first time. He’s sizable, too, just enough to have you scream if he hits the right angle. 

And as you feel him tease your slit with the head of his cock, you wish you could wrap your legs around him and simply _take him_ in full, take his whole length and ride him until he finds his release within you.

But you can’t, because after all, he’s in control. He’s your rigger, your tease, and you aren’t about to complain about something you love so much. After all, you _did_ sass him so at the bar earlier. 

“Oh, you’re soaked, aren’t you?” He chides playfully, and it’s all you can do not to totally turn red from the slight embarrassment. 

Grillby starts to thrust into you, his other hand on your hip as he holds around your back, and the two of you both let out your own groans at the first feeling of one another. If you weren’t so wet you’d hiss at the size of his cock, but instead you’re only filled with utter bliss, a warmth that’s both figurative and literal. 

He’s enjoying it, too, moaning out, “Oh, god- Oh, _fuck_ , you feel so good, love.” And then, in a brief change of tune, he looks down at you in your bindings and asks, “Give me a color, sweetheart.” 

You’re so busy moaning and accommodating his cock that you can barely even manage to get out a, “Green,” but you do, so he’ll take it. 

He works inch after inch into you, with the both of you shuddering and shaking and staring at each other the whole time until he’s hilted. You can’t stop the whimpers that come out of your mouth, as each little brush of his cock inside you is sending a hot shockwave of pleasure through your entire system. You’re completely and utterly full, and warm in a way you once never fathomed you could be. 

And after a moment of stillness, of staying like that and Grillby gazing down at your bound body with all the desire and adoration he’s capable of, he starts to move again. He starts slowly, pulling out at a torturous pace that could make you _cry_ from how the leisure has his cock rubbing over each and every little spot inside you. Sure enough, though, when he thrusts back in, he does so in full, yanking a startled moan from your mouth. You’re filled once again, and you can’t seem to quit huffing and moaning for him. 

He grunts each time he’s fully seated in you, a deep, masculine noise that drives you insane with that silvery rasp of his on the edge of it. 

As he pushes himself into you again, faster this time, he looks down at you and snarls, “You like that, darling? You like being tied down to the bed for me? You take my cock _so_ well. Such a good girl…” it’s a slew of praises and questions, but you love it nonetheless. He’s not the most vocal in bed, but when he does speak, it’s so passionate that you’ll take every single syllable he says to you like this and linger on it for days after. It makes you squeeze him tighter, makes you moan him louder.

The new pace he sets is far faster, far more self indulgent. His cock thrusts in and out of you with a speed you almost forgot he was capable, leaving you breathless and somehow still gasping for more. 

You can feel his fire getting hotter all over, but still so comforting and exhilarating that you whine out for him, over and over. All the while, Grillby holds onto you tightly as he quite literally fucks you into the mattress.

When you cry his name yet again, he looks deep into your eyes. God, his eyes are always so beautiful, always so full of emotion despite just being a solid color. You love the heat in his gaze, the raw indication of how he really feels about you. The intense gazing certainly doesn’t stop him from maintaining the speed he’s at, or the depth. His hold on your hips is so tight, but it still just feels _too good_ as he hilts himself yet again.

He asks you, “What is it, love? Do you want to cum for me? Do you want to show me who you belong to?” 

You’re quickly nodding, quickly gasping, “Please, oh god, I’m-“ but you can hardly get the sentence out before you come undone. Without warning, you hit your peak, squeezing his cock relentlessly as you cum. A barrage of moans and mewls falls out of your mouth while you do, your face flushed. In their restraints, your legs shake, but there’s nothing you can do about them. 

Grillby fucks your through your orgasm, though you can tell he isn’t far either. His cock is merciless within you, pistoning into you as his groans turn into growls, almost that of a true beast as he grows closer and closer to his own release.

“You feel so good, dear, I’m-“ 

He gives a particularly hard thrust, snarls suddenly, his mouth curling into a fiery sneer, and there it is. When he releases into you, his cum is just as hot as the rest of his body. It’s just barely hotter than how you like your shower water, but so thick and making you whimper again as he fills you with it. 

Your eyes are wide still, and your breath is shaking just as much as his is. His hands sweep up your body, from the indents he’s left on your hips to your waist and then to your chest, caressing you so comfortingly as he recovers from his own finish.

The two of you are both a mess, frankly, with your chests heaving and your faces flushed, but you can feel a blossom of adoration in your chest- pure, unadulterated love, all for the monster on top of you. It’s relieving, the endearing calmness that comes after the rush. You can tell he feels the same way too, from how he crawls up just to press a warm kiss against your temple.

And then Grillby tugs at one of the ropes, the one binding your right wrist, and murmurs breathlessly against your hair, “...So what do you say we get you untied and into these sheets, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, if I'm gonna have the mental image of that fine-ass fire man with his shirt half-on stuck in my head for the rest of my life, then so are y'all. Hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)!


	5. Exhibitionism (Swap!Gaster/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get lovingly tortured by Dings in an Olive Garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one definitely had me exercising my creativity. Obviously, the kink here is exhibitionism, but there was another prompt for "edging" today, which I included a little bit of in there too.
> 
> If you aren't familiar with how I write Underswap!Gaster, I'd recommend taking a look at my skeleharem fic, [Second Floor Skeletons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966426/chapters/54901243), but it's not necessary to enjoy the smut. Essentially, he's a polar opposite to my Gaster- jovial, bright, generally happy to be alive, and definitely on the dramatic side. 
> 
> With that being said, I hope you enjoy!!!

“What’s the matter, darling?” 

The question comes from the tall, handsome skeleton sitting across the restaurant table from you. Dings casts his hand out across the table, inviting you to hold it with a gentle, innocent smile. 

What an actor, you think to yourself as you purse your lips and place your hand in his. He’s so nonchalant, keeping his mirthful, heterochromatic eyelights on you as if he’s none the wiser to what’s _really_ going on with you.

As if he weren’t the one who wanted you to wear the vibrator out in public in the first place. As if he weren’t the one who picked out a new one specifically for the occasion, a little rabbit-shaped one that provided both internal and external stimulation and had one hell of a battery life. 

As if he didn’t have its remote control app installed on his phone, and weren’t presently playing with it over lunch. You heave a deep, controlled sigh, one that’s meant to disguise a moan.

Part of the reason this is so exhilarating is that Dings doesn’t even look like the type to be into this sort of thing. He’s easily one of the most jovial monsters you’ve ever met, with a flair for the dramatic and a generally happy disposition that’s contagious. For god’s sake, the man could outfit an entire village with the amount of tacky Hawaiian shirts he owns. On any given day, he’s bringing you freshly-baked bread and cupcakes. 

That’s all to say that when you and he first started seeing each other, you certainly weren’t expecting him to have an interest in… well, making a spectacle out of you, for lack of more eloquent phrasing. It took some getting used to, some boundary-setting and planning in advance, and he’s been more than patient to work up to this moment.

And here you are, on an otherwise-unassuming lunch date, struggling to keep your composure, all because your lover has a particular thing for making you come undone in public. Of course, he has to be playing coy about it, too.

“You know what’s the matter,” you rasp back at him, a tight smile on your lips. The vibrator’s on a low setting for now, thank god, and it’s much easier for you to talk, despite the slight shaking your legs are up to under the table. Your fingers squeeze his own, and your idle hand finds your water glass to sip at it. 

Dings raises your hand to his mouth, pressing a toothy kiss to your knuckles. “No, I don’t think I do.” 

That’s when you see his other hand directed to his phone, and instinctively gulp. You watch his thumb phalange slowly slide up on his screen, and just as you expected, the vibration gets stronger. 

You gasp, clutching the edge of the table at the sudden sensation in your panties. It’s electrifying, pressing right up against where you’re most sensitive. 

Dings just clicks his peach-colored tongue at you, “My, that’s a noise. Why don’t you just _tell me_ what the issue is, dear?”

He’s not going to let up on this, is he? You suppose you’ll answer him, then, even if it’s a challenge in resolve to even speak. Your hips unconsciously buck against the seat, taking the vibrator inside you at a new angle that’s brushing up against an especially sensitive spot.

So you lean in close, staring him right in the sockets as you struggle to properly enunciate, “The matter… is that there is _literally_ a vibrator on my pussy, and you’re playing with the controls, and-“ but mid-sentence, he must slide the power even further up, because you’re suddenly hit with a wave of intense, powerful vibration. 

Your eyes widen, feeling the change in power in utter spades. Shaking in the booth, you try your best to glower across the table, but you can’t even manage that. The vibrations are strong, too strong almost, to the point where you’re already pathetically close to having an orgasm.

You just whine out, “-and it feels _so good_ ,” ashamed of how easy it is for him to get you to crumble. 

Dings is so amused by it, too, that much is obvious. He kisses your hand again, this time at your fingers, and when he speaks to you, his typically-loud voice is low and sweet and sardonic.

“My, my, was that so hard? To just tell me how good it felt to have that little vibrator wedged into your sweet little cunt?” His eyelights have dimmed to something much darker than normal, and you could shudder alone from how quickly his words have escalated. 

He continues, “You look so cute like that, by the way, blushing and squirming across from me like that. I could look at you for hours, darling.” and you only melt further under his gaze. 

He slides his finger further up his screen, nearly pushing the little device inside you to its full potential, bringing you to your own peak, and for a fleeting moment you can swear you see stars. It’s addictingly good. Your mouth falls open in a gape, your nails dig into your napkin…

...only for him to immediately pull his finger down the phone screen, reducing the vibrator to a low, wimpy twitch, while your high is stolen from you. The whimper you let out at being edged is pathetic at best.

“Fuck,” you mewl, voice cracking in multiple places, and all the while Dings just laughs at you. 

“Oh, was someone getting close? Wouldn’t that have been fun? To watch you come undone right here at this table for me?” His grin is manic, even though you could cry from being led on and then let down. 

But as if sensing your dismay (as if it weren’t fucking obvious, the asshole) he kisses the palm of your hand, and then your wrist, and then all the way to the crook of your elbow. His voice is so sweet, so genuine despite being on a power trip just moments ago.

“Oh, my sweet little thing. Don’t you worry, I’ll have you cumming soon enough. After all, it’s not the point to torture you. Maybe I just… wanted to drag things out a little longer, you know, dear? If it gets to be too much, you can always let me know.” 

At this, you nod. And it isn’t too much, despite your aching, soaking-wet pussy begging for _more_ so blatantly that you feel that your entire body’s clenching. You’ll accept his kisses and his coy conversation with a smile on your face, because after all, you _did_ just nearly lose yourself in the middle of a restaurant, and it _did_ feel exhilarating.

The vibrator’s still on low, and you know he’s kind enough to let you have a few moments of respite. You can manage this… you think.

And you do, throughout the main course of your meal, with the buzzing kept to a dull roar the whole time. It’s only aggravating when you shift positions, the toy brushing up and moving against your clit that draws the occasional wanton breath out of your mouth.

Dings especially seems to like when you’re able to relax and actually talk with him. While he has only himself to blame for your sass and snarky remarks earlier, he eases in the booth when you’re more clearly enjoying yourself and having a good time. He feeds you a bite of his pasta dish from his fork, though he _does_ jokingly threaten to turn the vibrator up while you’re chewing.

But nothing could prepare you for the sight of your waitress walking out of the kitchen, a plate with a slice of cake and a candle in her hand. Several of the other staff follow behind her, almost as if in a procession, and they’re headed _straight for your table_. 

Your eyes are instantly venom on Dings, hissing at him, “Did you seriously tell them it was my birthday just so you could torture me?!”

He definitely did. He must have called ahead, or murmured something discreet to the waitress while you were eating, because there is _no fucking way_ that they’re going towards any other table. 

The skeleton just smirks at you, eyelights wandering as he replies, “Now, dear, I did no such thing…” 

“We were told somebody has a birthday today!” The waitress exclaims as she reaches your table, placing the cake slice down in front of you and grabbing a lighter to ignite the candle. 

As she’s lighting it, you watch your date casually take his phone out, raising it to you as if to take a video. Of course, there isn’t a video being taken, and the once-dull vibration feeling right against your clit increases to an intensity that has you fighting not to moan.

This must be the highest setting. It has to be. You’re in ecstasy, pure goddamn ecstasy, and you absolutely cannot show it, not one bit. 

Your wild, enamored eyes lock onto Dings’, and you discreetly mouth a pleasure-wracked “Fuck you” to him. 

His smug grin doesn’t leave his face, and he has a word of his own to mouth to you. “Later.”

It’s a challenge in resolve, to not cum squirming in your seat while the staff sings happy birthday to you. The song’s only twenty seconds, you know that much, but dear _god_ is it the longest twenty seconds of your life when there’s a remote-controlled vibrator buzzing away both inside you and over your hyper-sensitive clit. 

All the while, Dings keeps his eyes on you, his smile borderline predatory as you sit in tortured, euphoric agony through the duration of the song. You know he knows what he’s doing to you, how mad you’re being driven by the insane amounts of pleasure you’re feeling. You can’t even bring yourself to be jokingly frustrated with him, your bratty attitude subdued and dumbed down by your soaking wet pussy and your twitching clit.

Fortunately, the song does come to an end, and soon enough, the lovely and unaware restaurant employees clap and wish you a final happy birthday before leaving you and your date be.

The vibrator’s still on high, and now that the only possible distraction you’ve had is gone, you’re left to suffer with it. You’re practically thrashing in the seat, legs trembling, chest heaving with need, and you can hardly even focus on Dings as he sits across from you.

He opens his mouth, and you think he’s going to say something snarky and witty before turning the vibe down again and leaving you high and dry for the second time this afternoon.

But instead he just finds your hand on the table again, lacing his long, thin phalanges through the gaps of your fingers, and leans forward. His face is halfway across the table, and you opt to meet him in the middle. Like this, you’re so close he could kiss you, with his mouth just inches from your agape, panting lips. 

His teeth grazes your skin so tantalizingly when he whispers, “My darling… my beautiful, perfect little love… cum for me.” 

That’s all you need. 

You find release just as he asks you to, your eyes rolling back and your toes curling in your sandals. The vibrator makes you shudder, body unable to contain your pleasure for any longer as you cum. 

The feeling is potent, so intense and electrifying against your skin that you have to grip the leather seat beneath you with your unoccupied hand. Your nails dig in, both into the cushioning and into Dings’ hand, and all the while he holds onto you so patiently. His eyes gaze into your own, transfixed, seemingly amazed by the sight in front of him. 

When you can finally manage to come down, your breath is still unsteady, still shaking. You can hardly even close your mouth properly. God, you must look a wreck, with your hair a frazzled mess and your clothes wrinkled to all hell from the thrashing about you’ve done. 

Subtly, slowly, you can feel the vibrator decrease in potency, until it’s dimmed down to nothing. That’s when you can truly catch your breath, and when Dings closes the minuscule gap between the two of you to plant a toothy kiss on your nose. He kisses from your nose up to your forehead, and then back down to your lips to gently peck you. 

His voice is soft, tender. “You have no idea how lovely that was to watch, dearest.” 

All you can do is grin, exhausted from the powerful orgasm that’s just shocked your whole body. You’ve just been teased, edged, tortured in a way you never expected… but fuck, the payoff was heavenly. When you try to speak, your words don’t come out quite like you want them to, and it takes you a while to properly enunciate to him your thoughts.

“I think…” you tell him, “...I think I’d… that I’d like to do this again sometime… with the vibrator, you know?” 

Oh, the way his eyelights brighten until they could be vibrant peach-and-blue sparklers, lighting up your shared table and the area around you with their radiance. 

“That’s perfect. Yes, we can definitely do that!” He chirps, clearly pleasantly surprised with your response. As you relax back into the booth, your fingers find your fork again, before gesturing to the plate in front of you.

“And look, you got us free cake. This just keeps getting better and better,” you comment, earning a thrilled smile from your date. 

Dings is such a sap, resting his skull in one of his hands atop the table as he regards you with nothing but utter mirth in his expression. 

“Yes, yes it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dings is a masterpiece and tbh all the Gasters get slept on. I'm doing the Lord's work (I'm kidding) (or am I)
> 
> If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)!


	6. Love Potion (Gaster/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your boss and beloved research assistant has a new long-term project he'd like you to help him test out. It's a love potion, and he's volunteered to be his own guinea pig as you observe the results.
> 
> Hm, now wouldn't be a good time to mention you have a crush on him, would it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO, it's 2:30 a.m. and I can sufficiently say I have worked my ass off for this one. I'd say the quality is top tier, but maybe I'm a little biased. 
> 
> A little disclaimer, though, that because this does deal with love potions, the consent is a little tiny bit dubious. There's more at work here, which you'll see if you read through to the end, so it's not any awful noncon business I swear (and honestly not really dubcon), but I do have to give y'all a heads-up because there is a tiny bit of a vibe of that happening.
> 
> With that being said, I hope you enjoy, because I really loved writing it!!!

To say you have a cushy job is an understatement. 

You love working at the Ebbott Research Facility, your dream job come true. Sure, you don’t have the highest position you want just yet, but there’s obviously room to grow and move up. Your pay as a high-clearance research assistant is generous, and your hours are just the same. 

It’s a close-knit thing, too, with just you and your boss working together as a collaborative team in his personal laboratory. You’re vaguely aware that the doctor’s never been fond of taking on assistants, but somehow, you’ve been an exception. He’s a private man, Dr. Gaster is, so every time you’ve asked about it, he’s merely shaken his head and murmured something about a change of mind. 

You think you just might be the only person he even talks to, outside of his family. It didn’t take you long after meeting him to figure out that the tall, stately skeleton is very protective of his two younger brothers, whom he lives with. Strangely enough, though, is the fact that despite his intelligence, money, and elegant demeanor, he’s unmarried. You know he isn’t the most social creature out there by far, but wouldn’t he want something like that? He seems like he could be such a charmer, too, if he really tried. The few occasions you’ve tried to poke and prod about his love life, though, he’s waved you off entirely. 

If you weren’t so well-acquainted, you’d chalk it up to him finding you annoying and nosy. However, you’ve worked with Gaster long enough to know that that’s just how he is, although he’s more than willing to run his mouth about anything else in the world that doesn’t pertain to his personal life. 

This applies especially to the research you two do together, to the point where you don’t think he understands the concept of “work hours” and “off-work hours.” You can’t even count the amount of times he’s called you in the evening, rambling on in that deep voice of his until you beg him to let you eat dinner, or shower, or _sleep_ , for God’s sakes. 

It’s kind of cute of him, though. Just a little bit.

For example, tonight you’re just getting into your apartment with your Chinese takeout, shutting the door behind you, when your phone starts to ring. 

Gaster’s contact photo is the only picture you’ve taken together, a selfie from a formal conference the two of you attended a few months back. He’s standing behind you as you hold the camera, the barest hint of a smile on his skull. When you took it, he expressed a disdain for photos of himself, but you always thought he looked nothing less than handsome. 

“Hello?” You start, but before the word’s even out of your mouth, your boss is interrupting, deep voice wracked with urgency.

“Do you have anything planned for the next three days? Anything of _importance_ , that is?” 

Oh goodness, is he having another manic episode? He’s prone to them, binges of bold spontaneity that borderline madness when he’s at his highest point. You don’t know how to answer this with anything other than honest caution.

“Not… really? Dr. Gaster, are you-” 

“I’m fine, dear, no need to fret over my mental state,” he cuts you off again, and you can absolutely visualize him waving you off with one of his slender, gloved hands. He probably is, currently. “But, that brings us to this request I have… There’s this experiment I’d like to carry out, one that I’ll be needing your ever-so-impeccable assistance for. It’s a more longitudinal one, thus my question about your availability. And before you ask about my mental state again, darling, I’ve been working on it for quite some time now.”

What kind of study involves three days of constant activity? God knows what he’s up to. The man’s full of surprises, you’ve come to learn over the year-or-so you’ve been working with him.

Nevertheless, you sigh, “Will I get to know the specifics of the study tonight, or will I have to wait until tomorrow?” Your takeout is getting cold. You need to know what you’re getting into before you agree to it… but on the other hand, food. 

On the other end of the line, Dr. Gaster sighs, “I can tell you the essentials tonight, but I have to admit I’m already very busy with setup. Your job is simple: observation of a subject and collection of data over a 72-hour period. I’ll need you stationed in the laboratory constantly, with obvious breaks to shower and sleep periodically. I’m setting up a _very_ high-end cot for you at the moment- that is, obviously, if you choose to assist me.” 

He’s still in the lab? At what, 8:00 at night? And what kind of asinine setup does he even _need_ for a little data collection? It sounds like he’s already committed you to the project, too. You sigh, opening the box of veggie fried rice and letting the steam waft up to your nose. Hell yes, they put the little baby corn in this batch. 

“And what, pray tell, will you be doing?” You ask, voice flat. Do you think he would notice if you started eating? You’re.... very tempted.

But nothing can prep you for the gut-punch that is the line, “My dear, I’m the subject you’ll be observing.” If you’d been eating, you’d have definitely spit your food out.

What? 

“What?!” You exclaim into the phone, but he’s already shushing you, his powerful voice but a gentle wisp in your ear.

“Please, let me explain,” he sighs, and so you listen. “On the side of our usual work, I’ve taken on a little recreational project. I’ve been engineering a… concoction, you could call it, a serum meant to… well, to simulate the neurological activity of sexual attraction. I feel as if I’ve perfected it, but obviously, this needs to be tested. While I doubt any true side effects will occur, I have to take precautions, and with that, I have to refuse to put anyone else in harm’s way… anyone, of course, omitting myself. It’s the only logical solution, you see.”

It takes you a moment to fully let his words soak in. Each sentence he’s uttered needs several layers of processing, but that’s typical for a conversation with him, so you aren’t overly surprised. 

And when you feel you finally understand, you ask to clarify, “Wait, so you want me to come and observe you while you test this crazy love potion on yourself?”

“Yes. You’re welcome to decline, obviously, as I’m not… entirely sure how I’ll behave, and the last thing I’d want is to make you uncomfortable. I can find someone else, obviously, but to be frank with you, dear, you’re the most competent person by far to do this. I trust your data collection abilities, your notation, and by god, you’re always so observant. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you’re the correct person for this. And besides…” Gaster takes a breath, then admits, “you’re just about the only one I’d trust to be vulnerable in front of. You know what is and is not normal for me, so your observations would be most accurate. In addition, I trust that if something awful were to occur, you’d be compassionate enough to call for medical attention and not leave me dying on the laboratory floor.”

As he finishes his spiel, you nod, easing up considerably enough to the point where you feel like you can actually eat now. You open the tupperware container of General Tso’s, readying your chopsticks. Mm, Americanized Chinese food that probably has way too much sugar. 

With his argument convincing, and your decision made, you speak into the phone, “So we’d hypothetically be starting tomorrow, right? I can pack a bag.” 

The next day, you arrive at the research facility at the same time you normally would, except with a duffel thrown over your shoulder. You don’t even know what to expect to see when you reach the lab, but you suppose you’ll see what kind of setup Dr. Gaster has for the two of you. 

A love potion? God, you’d kill to know what he smoked to come up with _that_ idea. As you ascend the stairs up to his private lab you giggle to yourself at the thought of Gaster, high out of his goddamn mind and rambling about love potions.

However, of all the things you expected to see in Gaster’s laboratory, a cage _definitely_ wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. It’s a massive Joe-Goldberg-style container made entirely of glass and installed in the middle of the now-cleared-out lab. Inside of it is Gaster’s personal work desk, a long, cot-style bed, a screened-off shower and sink area, and a bookshelf. You think there’s a chess table in there as well. At least, that’s all you see at first glance, and you are _stunned_.

That’s when Dr. Gaster steps into the lab behind you, nodding to you as he carries what’s probably his third cup of coffee for the morning. 

“It’s amazing what you can get funding and express shipment for when you use the right wording,” he comments to you with that sly grin you always love to see. You see that he’s already been in here this morning, with his own bag set down at the door to the cage. “Are you ready to begin, my dear?”

First, he goes over the instructions. The 72 hours begin once he administers the serum to himself, and he will immediately step into the cage, shutting the door and sealing himself inside. For as long as he is able to, Gaster will record his own internal observations about the serum’s effects. You are to record any notable changes at least every three hours, but more often if possible. There is a window that you can open in order to deliver food, water, and other essentials to Gaster if need be. If you must leave the laboratory for any reason whatsoever, you may not be gone for longer than an hour. If you must resign from the experiment for any reason whatsoever, you are to call his brother, Sans, so that he may relieve you and resume observation until the remainder of the 72 hours are over. 

“And do not,” Gaster wags a long, gloved finger at you, “do _not_ , under any circumstances, let me out of the cage until the 72 hours have worn off or the effects of the serum are to the point of insignificance.” His tone is stern, his deep violet eyelights serious pinpricks. “While I have my predictions, I’m not acutely aware at all of how this concoction’s going to affect me, and while I’m willing to risk my own body, I’m _not_ willing to risk yours. So I mean it when I tell you that you are _not_ allowed to open that cage door, that you are _not_ allowed to come in, unless it is an absolute life-or-death situation. Do you understand?” 

His cold, dead-serious tone frightens you. You can feel yourself shrink back in your shoes before you finally squeak out a reply, “Yes sir.” 

“Good,” he nods, demeanor back to his typical warmth that he always shows around you. In front of the cage is a desk- presumably the one you’ll be using to observe him. Your own cot isn’t far away, either, halfway across the lab and covered in brand-new blankets. It looks comfortable, actually… maybe this won’t be so bad, sleeping here in the lab while your boss tests a literal love serum on himself like some kind of fool. 

On the desk is a thin vial, filled with a hot-pink, syrupy liquid. You already know what it is, but you’ll let Dr. Gaster explain it to you anyway.

“This, my dear, is the product of my research. I thought adding a bit of food dye would make it… ah, just a tad festive, you know?” His hopeful smile is endearing. “The dosage is tiny. Just a singular milliliter should achieve the desired effect. It’s a consumable, obviously, to accommodate the biology of all creatures…” but casting an amused look at you, he adds, “but I supposed if you silly humans wanted to inject it straight into your bloodstream, it would achieve the same effect at a faster pace.” 

You get the timer ready as Gaster fishes a plastic, tubular medicine spoon from his coat pocket. He pours from the vial so carefully, clenching his sharp, fanged teeth in concentration. 

As you look him up and down, you find it funny that he’s still wearing business clothes if he’s going to be lounging around for the next three days. You won’t laugh at him, though; he wouldn’t understand, because knowing him, he very well may wear suits for loungewear. Momentarily, you try to picture him in sweatpants, and your brain threatens to short-circuit. 

The timer’s set, Gaster quickly downs the spoonful of the elixir he’s created, and with that, he steps into the cage. His bag goes with him, and the glass door slams shut. As per your instructions, you follow him to the door so that you may lock it from the outside. 

And with that, the experiment is under way. 

The first hour is dull, if anything. Gaster has his notes out, excitedly scribbling onto the paper about how he doesn’t feel anything yet. You make note of it as well in your notepad. _No apparent change. Delayed reaction?_

For the second hour, Gaster asks you to play against him in chess. He’s moved the antique wooden board and table to the edge of the cage, where you can even sit across from him without physically being in there. You can even tell him where to move your pieces on the grid.

“You’re gonna beat me for sure,” you joke as you drag your chair over.

He only clicks his tongue, his gaze on you. “Don’t discount yourself, darling, you’re plenty brilliant. Beautiful, too.”

That’s new. He hasn’t flattered you like that before. In fact, you’d wondered if he even had a concept of beauty before now.

“You think so?” You chirp. 

Dr. Gaster lowers his skull to be even with your gaze. “I know so. Don’t you have any idea how stunning you are?” 

You don’t know how to answer him. It’s going in the notes. As you’re jotting down that he complimented your appearance more than once, it occurs to you that neither of you really speculated that _you_ just might be the object of his affections whilst under the influence of the serum. If he did, he certainly didn’t tell you.

He beats you in chess, but his eyes are locked on you the whole time.

The third hour progresses much like the second did. Gaster reports an increased thrumming feeling in his Soul.

“Is that normal?” He asks you, “Isn’t thrumming commonly related to feelings of love?” 

You nod, absentmindedly, before looking up at him to ask, “Have you never been in love before, Gaster?” Oh, he’s sure to berate you for that one. You should know better by now than to ask such an invasive question.

But he rests his skull in one hand, cradling it in his palm to keep his gaze on you. “Not quite yet.” There’s a wistfulness in his eyes, one you aren’t used to seeing on him. 

It isn’t until hour four that you’ve realized you’ve made a mistake- or rather, that Gaster has. 

You’re getting up to run to the restroom when you notice the medicine spoon, still cast aside on the other end of the desk post-use. Yes, the pink stain on the plastic is lined up with the 1 mark… but there are two different units on the spoon. There are milliliters, and there are teaspoons. 

“Dr. Gaster!” you exclaim suddenly, speed-walking to the glass with a new urgency. Fortunately, he’s already looking at you, gaze glued to your every move now.

“Now, darling, you can’t just go around calling out for me like that. Someone might get the wrong idea about what’s occurring in here,” he comments, mouth widened into a smirk. One of his sockets arches up. Oh, gracious, is _this_ the new phase we’re in now? 

Never mind it. You hold up the spoon for him, gesturing to how high up the liquid has stained. “You measured one teaspoon, not one milliliter like you said. That means you have _five times_ the pre-determined dosage in your system.” 

He blinks at you once, and then twice. 

“But I feel just fine right here with you.”

Oh, now _that’s_ raising some alarms for you. Your eyes instantly widen. He’s _fine_ , he says? You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say he’s _just fine_ in all the time you’ve ever known him. What’s most concerning, though, is the fact that Dr. Gaster- _The_ Dr. W.D. Gaster, _your_ tightass, strict, fatherly-to-the-point-of-being-annoying, scientist boss Dr. Gaster, doesn’t even seem to care that he took a wrong measurement. 

Disconcerting indeed. You put the spoon down in favor of picking up your notebook and recording the data. _Alarming change. Is overdosed 5x. Will call off experiment if subject appears endangered. Seems aloof to circumstances. Making perverse jokes. Is definitely not just fine. Subject may grow to be unreliable._

Halfway through hour five, you opt to get your lunches out. Gaster packed a chicken salad today, with a side of what looks to be quinoa. You’re eager to get your leftover Chinese food out of the microwave, but while it’s reheating, you bring Gaster’s over to the window that’s been installed in the glass cell. It’s a small space with a sliding door, just big enough to sit a stack of books on.

He meets you at the window, smirking at you (because at some point his smile became replaced with _this_ expression). 

“You’re such a lovely little thing, darling. So generous and conscientious. It’s no wonder I’m so fond of you,” he says, and you’re instantly flushing. You didn’t know he was going to be complimenting you so much, so thoroughly. Though your face is surely red, and you can feel your stomach fluttering at just how tantalizing those words are coming from _him_ and his deep voice, you know it’s not real. 

You merely open the window to slide his lunch through. “With all due respect, Dr. Gaster, you’re under the effects of your attraction elixir. I don’t think you mean that.”

But he doubles down, “Oh, potion or not, I _do_ mean all of that. I’ve thought that regardless of this little experiment. After all, you _are_ quite gorgeous, and you’ve been nothing less than graceful towards me this whole time I’ve known you.” 

And you certainly aren’t expecting him to reach out to touch your hand, his glove grazing your bare skin as you’re trying to hand him his food. You instinctively jump, not anticipating such a move in the slightest, and when you snap your head up to look at your boss, his eyes are already on you. What’s even more alarming, though, is just how _clear_ his eyelights are, just how _there_ he still seems to be. He looks like himself, still, and yet…

“Is it really so absurd for a monster like me to be enamored with his beautiful assistant?” 

The microwave beeps, and you use it as an excuse to finish the trade off. You giggle awkwardly, slam the sliding door shut, and try to ignore the way your whole body seems to be on fire as you go to retrieve your own meal. Try to ignore how you thought it was nice that he was touching you like that, and saying those things to you. 

You keep your eyes on your phone the entire time you eat. This hour’s observations include _”reached to touch my hand and make physical contact during food delivery”_ and _”claims to be enamored?????”_

At the beginning of hour seven, Gaster calls your name. You’re in the midst of journeying through all the different sides of TikTok when you hear him, and instinctively pick your head up to regard him.

“Yes, doctor?” You prompt, only for him to announce,

“I’m wondering what it’d be like to kiss you.” He states, plain as day, and you drop your phone onto the desk. You know you should be grabbing for your notebook, scrambling to get this down, but for some reason you’d just… like to listen to this first, because he so clearly has more to tell you.

“Rather, I’ve been wondering about kissing you for several hours now, but I’ve just now reached the point where I’d like to tell you that I would want such a thing. That I _want_ to kiss you, dear, and badly.” 

Yes, those words just came out of your prudish boss’s mouth. You feel like you’re getting whiplash. It doesn’t feel real, listening to Dr. Gaster say such things, knowing they’re directed at you. It may be the serum talking, you know that much, but that doesn’t change how sweet it sounds on his tongue, how for a moment it makes your mind wander.

This isn’t the first time you’ve contemplated a crush on him. The feelings have come and gone the whole time you’ve worked with him, and each time you’ve wrestled with the ethics of it all. It would be wrong, undeniably, to have a relationship with your boss, and yet… Your attraction to him is indisputable, and perhaps now is the worst time for it to be rearing its ugly head.

You prompt, “You want to kiss me?” 

He’s quick to reply, “Not exclusively. Obviously, I’d occupy my hands as well, perhaps with your silky hair, or that tantalizing figure of yours. But good _god_ , my dear, how I’d kiss you if I could.”

“Okay. Good to know.” You say, trying to stay steady and neutral as the researcher in this situation. But as you turn your back on Gaster to record your notes, you don’t miss the way his eyelights flick to the door of the cage.

In an effort to cool down, you decide that now is a good time for a nap. It’s about the time that your normal work hours would be over, and the last thing you want is to push yourself to the point of being exhausted, especially considering you’re supposed to be making observations every three hours. With this in mind, you tap away on your phone, setting an alarm for two and a half hours later. 

“Gaster,” you call out, cautiously, “I’m going to go rest for a bit. This research stuff is draining me. Can you… yell for me or something if anything wild starts happening?” 

He replies with a question, “Well, yes, but… what if I just want the pleasure of your company?” 

Oh, he’s a sweetheart. An idiot sweetheart under the influence of his own stupid love potion that he took five times the appropriate dose of, but you can’t tell him that that’s what you think of him. 

“Gaster, I’m going to lie down. I’m right across the room. It’s not the end of the world, okay?” 

That seems to placate him, the idea that you won’t be far. You turn the main labaratory lights down, leaving the secondary lights so he’s not completely in the dark, and find your way to the cot that Dr. Gaster set up for you before taking the serum. It’s decently comfortable, and the sheets are soft. 

Despite the circumstances, and the sterile-feeling draft throughout the lab, you fall asleep quite quickly. Your dreams are empty, so when you wake, you feel as if it were just a blink. 

Your alarm is beeping incessantly, informing you your two and a half hours are up. So you stand, rub your eyes, and hit the lights back on again…

...only to see _much_ more bone than you’d expected to. 

No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you, that’s definitely Dr. Gaster without a shirt on. You don’t even want to begin to speculate exactly why he decided to take his gloves, suit jacket, and dress shirt off, but he has, and is sitting at his desk with his bare bones exposed. Even as he’s poring over something on his papers in there, you can still see quite a bit of him. Momentarily you’re transfixed by his spine, and how elegantly it curves. You can’t seem to take your eyes off of his ribs, either, watching them as they heave with every breath he takes. They’re much sturdier-looking than the typical human bone, and still look so graceful, so sleek, like finely-shone marble beneath the laboratory lighting. You thought he was handsome before, with that finely-angled jaw and those peculiar scars going up his skull, but he… really is beautiful...

However, you can’t stare unnoticed for too long, and sure enough, Gaster’s quick to pick his head up after a few seconds, gaze instantly on you as if he knew exactly where you were the whole time.

And oh, that’s a new look on his face. His eyelights, which are typically so neutral and unbothered, are bright, manic violet nebulas that take up much more of his skull than you’re used to seeing. The smug turn of his teeth is familiar, yes, but they’re curved just a bit further up than you think they were capable of, only contributing to the near-mad demeanor he’s sporting.

When Gaster greets you, his voice sounds so sweet, so wickedly sugary, “Well, hello there, my dear. I trust that you slept well. I have to say, though, that provided I were out of this _dreadful_ little cage and with you, there wouldn’t be much sleep to be had, hm?” 

Instantly, you’re balking, eyes wide as you exclaim, “Dr. Gaster, what do you-”

But he cuts you off with a click of his tongue, standing from his desk to be at his full height. Now, his torso is _really_ on display, his entire hulking form majestic as he strides to the edge of the cage.

“Now, darling, don’t play innocent with me. You and I _both_ know what I meant by that… as well as how _appealing_ the idea sounds.” 

You blush, but don’t argue, too shocked by the drastic change that’s apparently occurred between hours seven and ten. What did you sleep through? 

You try to change the subject, “Why did you take your shirt off?” 

Gaster replies, “It’s simple, dear, really. For one, I started to feel uncomfortably warm in all those clothes, and for another, I was waiting for your reaction.” 

“My reaction?”

“Of course,” he replies, as if his reasoning is obvious. The way he saunters around his glass cage shouldn’t be alluring to you, and yet, you like watching him a little too much. “While you’ve been tending to our more obvious study at hand, I’ve been doing one of my own.” Gaster stops briefly, to gather a few of the papers at his desk, before bringing them over to present to you. 

“If you’ll look here-” he stops to press one of the papers to the glass, “-then you’ll notice that I’ve kept track of each and every reaction you’ve had to my advances. And what I’ve found is essentially a sociological adaptation of Newton’s Third Law, my darling: The more obvious the action I’ve taken, the more severe your reaction. However- and this is notable- none of your reactions have been inherently negative. In fact, I’d argue that each and every one of your responses to my coming onto you has been _positive_.” 

It’s always so hard to read his handwriting; it’s perpetually a messy, half-cursive scrawl with bits of wingdings scattered in. Even when you walk closer and squint you can only make out a few words, intermingling with arrows and bullet points and tally marks that don’t make any sense to you. You have to admit, though, that you’re _quite_ amazed that he’s still able to make such observations in the state he’s in. You were worried for a while there that the serum would render him stupid, incapable of acting like his typical self, and yet here he is, just as research-oriented as ever… even if the research is about _you_ now.

However, once you’ve looked at the paper for an amount of time that he perceives is sufficient, he removes it from the cage wall and instead lowers his skull so that you’re eye to eye. 

“You’re welcome to dispute this, because obviously, your own input and consent matter more than anything else to this data set, but I’ve reached the logical conclusion that _obviously_ there is a strong attraction between the two of us that you can feel as well… and frankly, dear, I’m curious as to where this can go.” 

And there it is, your opportunity to argue with your potion-drunk boss about your attraction to him. Some part of you argues that now is _definitely_ not the time to be agreeing with him, that as the researcher you should be keeping your own feelings out of this. But you know you can’t hide your body language from him; that much is obvious from the observations he’s taken of you over the past few hours.

Gaster suddenly breaks through your thoughts, cooing, “Oh, you’re blushing again, you sweet little thing. Aren’t you precious? That little blush of yours has been _quite_ the source of entertainment for me today. In fact, I’ve noticed it’s the most prominent when I’m… rather explicit with what I’d like from you.” 

You gulp. “Yes… and?”

You’re getting to the point where you can hardly take this anymore. His voice has dropped to something so tantalizing and tempting, and half the time he’s talking you can’t stop the way your eyes keep flicking down to his lovely bones on display. The other half, you’re too transfixed on that manic, borderline-evil grin on his face. You know you shouldn’t be so drawn to him, shouldn’t be so swayed by some bare bones and a lusty smirk, but you simply can’t _not_ be. 

He clasps his hands together, prodding at you again, ”It’s simple. You enjoy the feeling of being wanted, don’t you, dear? That’s what this is. You hear me speak to you like this and you _love_ how it feels. You _want_ me to want you like I do.” 

You’ve lost your ability to argue with him. He may be delirious, may be driven by the drug that he himself has made, but just as usual, Dr. Gaster’s scarily correct. What’s even worse is that he _knows_ as much, and if there’s any force on this earth to be reckoned with, it’s Gaster when he’s convinced that he’s right. 

How is it that he’s the one in the cage, and you’re the one that’s lost this battle?

With a defeated sigh, you confirm his suspicions. “Yes, Gaster, you’re right.” 

But that’s when he pushes the only physical boundary that exists between the two of you by pressing his forehead to the glass of the cage. His gaze is locked onto you, and the pull of those violet eyelights is impossible for you to fight anymore. He knows as much, too; he may be the one under the effects of the serum, but you’ve been seduced just as much. 

His tone is clear, razor-sharp as he tells you, ”Then let me tell you exactly what I want. Because oh, my lovely girl, do I _want_.” Gaster clears his throat, a blatant power move to showcase the fact that he most definitely has your rapt, undivided attention. 

“You know, I’ve always loved watching you strut into work every morning, dressed so delectably. Your sense of style is always impeccable, darling. Take today for example: you’ve slept in those clothes, and yet, you still look nothing short of gorgeous. However, though, I’d _really_ like to see that tiny little skirt of yours bunched up at your waist… the buttons torn from your blouse…” As he gestures to each article of your clothing, he stops to run his long, violet tongue along his teeth, “...your bra on the floor, cute panties around one ankle… Though you can keep those heels of yours on, sweetheart. You’ll need all the height you can get to line up with my cock.” 

This may have come out of seemingly nowhere, all this dirty talk, but you can’t even ignore how his words make you burn from within. It’s impossible to fight it off anymore, you know that much. And… did he say he had a _cock_?

As if reading your mind (or maybe it’s just the blush on your face), he nods, “That’s right, darling, I have a cock, and I would love nothing more than to _ruin_ you with it. To leave you a moaning, sobbing mess on my desk. How does that sound, my dear? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” In emphasis, he presses one of his ungloved hands to the glass, trailing one of his long, elegant phalanges down the exact spot your face would be if there weren’t a physical barrier between the two of you. 

You’d always wondered about those hands of his, how they looked, bare and up close, how they would _feel_ on your skin. If you think hard enough, you can almost imagine how the sharp, bony finger would drag against your face, caressing you in a gentle, but practiced gesture… and that’s when your cheek hits the cold glass. 

“My, someone’s eager,” Dr.Gaster chides, and you didn’t think your face could heat up any more. However, you _are_ starting to heat up elsewhere, just as well. He “tsks” at you, shaking his head mockingly. “You know, my beautiful little thing, we could always amend this little situation we have here.” 

He doesn’t have to look at the cage door for the implication to be clear.

At first, you don’t even know what to say. You want to give in to the temptation that you’ve fought so hard to resist. You want to stay strong and resilient in the face of this extreme experiment. You want to find out just what you’ve been missing out on all this time. You want to obey Dr. Gaster’s rules.

_”I mean it when I tell you that you are not allowed to open that cage door, that you are not allowed to come in.”_

You want Dr. Gaster to _ruin_ you. 

The keys are in your hand before you even realize that they are. It’s a foolish decision, you know as much, but it’s what you choose. You can feel the tall skeleton’s eyes on you as you walk around to the door, your heart beating straight through your chest. The key’s in the lock. You can’t believe you’re actually doing this, that you’ve actually reached the point of agreeing to this with him. The key turns, you push on the handle…

And in an instant, you’re grabbed. Familiar, bony hands grip your waist with remarkable power and purpose, and a gasp slips out of your mouth. You look up, searching for his face, and find it shockingly close to yours. He peers down at you, that smirk of his nothing short of pure sex.

Gaster’s voice is pitch-dark, carrying a carnal depth that you could fall into and never be found again. “There you are. I knew you’d decide correctly, darling. My darling, sweet, _perfect_ girl…” 

He doesn’t waste any more time, cupping your cheek in one hand and pressing his teeth to your lips in a searing, inescapable kiss. Oh, the way your heart _flutters_ at the sensation, with your mouth opening in a surprised moan. He kisses you wildly, hungrily, as if he’s starving, with his body pushing into yours until there is no space left and then pushing for more. 

You lean into it completely, with your hands finding purchase on his bare ribs. They grasp at the bone with equal parts need and adoration, just as he winds a hand into your hair. Your mouths are unrelenting, clinging to one another with every desperate collision. You never knew he could kiss like this, with all the passion of a newly-married man. You’ve never even been kissed like this before, but you don’t think you want it to stop anytime soon.

Suddenly, you feel two extra hands on your hips, and when you momentarily break away to look, you see that they’re more of his, summoned with magic in order to multitask. You have to admit, you’ve had a couple of fantasies in the past involving these extra hands, and how creatively they could be used on you. These ones hoist you higher up against Gaster, while still allowing him to cup your face and kiss you like he is. It feels as if he refuses to let go of you at all, but nevertheless you wrap your arms around his spine and allow yourself to be carried wherever he wants you to go. 

It’s as you’re being carried, though, that you’re pressed up against the doctor’s slacks, and amidst the expensive fabric, you feel the unmistakable, definite outline of a cock in his pants. He certainly wasn’t bluffing when he mentioned being endowed, that’s for certain, but he failed to mention just how _well-endowed_ he is. Gaster must feel the heat on your face and make the connection, because he chuckles against your mouth, low and breathy and attractively arrogant.

He lays you down on his desk, the stationery already cleared from the surface so that you can splay out freely. The extra hands vanish, their job accomplished. As you look up at him, his eye-lights rake down your body in his own personal examination of you. It’s just as he said earlier, he wants you on his desk, but with your skirt hiked up, and your blouse torn… 

The blouse comes first, just as the thought’s crossing your mind. His hands come down onto your chest, working at each button with a fury. It’s certainly more reserve than you expected of him, especially considering the scene he narrated for you. He gets the shirt unbuttoned, and lifts you by the waist just so that he can pull the top off of you. The garment falls to the floor in a pile, and instantly, his mouth is back on you. 

He starts at your cheek, kissing down to your jaw, and then to your neck. Your skin’s especially sensitive there, and you know how sharp his teeth are. They’re almost like fangs. You can’t help the moan that comes out of your lips.

“Tell me, my dear…” His teeth trail down your neck, causing you to shudder with every kiss he plants, “how long have you been waiting for this?”

There’s no use hiding it from him. He probably already knows. He’s most likely known this whole time.

“Months,” you whimper, arching your back and leaning into his hands. It’s cathartic to say, though you should probably be ashamed of it. What business does a girl like you have, longing for your boss and research partner like you’ve been? 

But then again, what business does _he_ have, wanting you like this? He’s in a position of _power_ over you. You can attribute it all to the potion if you wish, blaming it on the overdose, but your intuition finds something more lurking beneath the surface of all this. What were the dates on the notes he showed you earlier? 

Gaster nips at your ear and counters, “I’ll do you one better, sweetheart. Imagine wanting someone for an entire _year_. Imagine wanting them from the moment you’ve met them.” 

You want to chase his abrupt confession with an inquiry, a challenge, but you’re dizzy with your own desire. It can wait until he’s subdued enough to have a conversation with.

He cups your breasts over your bra and you arch into his touch. Just the sight of his elegant, bony hands over the silky fabric could make you moan. His thumbs swipe over your nipples, feeling you even through the fabric. Momentarily you flush with embarrassment, especially when you feel him grin against your collarbone. 

“Mm, is someone needy for me?” He asks, voice but a rasp that makes you quiver. 

“It’s cold,” you try to reply, knowing already what a pathetic excuse it is, but you couldn’t just let him tease you like that.

Gaster laughs against your skin, “Oh, my dear…” and then pulls your bra unclasped with a single, precise hand. You discard it, and it lands somewhere in the cell. 

His eyes settle on your breasts and you aren’t sure whether you want to curl up and hide, or to arch upward and beg for his touch.   
Despite how exposed you are, and how foreign the feeling is to you, you love having him stare at you like this, deep-down. His gaze is thick with obsession, his breath heavy. When he finally presses his hands to you, you could moan just from the touch of his bare phalanges to your breasts. 

He squeezes you gingerly, slowly, with both hands, and your teeth dig into your lip. You gaze up at him helplessly, wantonly, as he caresses you, a soft sigh making its way out of your mouth. When the clawed tips of his fingers ghost over your nipples, however, you instantly respond, your hips bucking as you let out a mewl. God, that felt _good_.

That definitely amuses Gaster, enough for him to do it again, earning the same reaction. If his kisses didn’t already soak you, then this definitely does, with your panties under your skirt only growing more and more uncomfortable. He pinches your nipples in his phalanges and you cry out loudly this time, reaching up to grip at his bony forearms for some sort of leverage. 

He murmurs to you, “It feels so good, doesn’t it, darling? You _enjoy_ when I touch you like this, don’t you?” 

Any ounce of shame you had left is abandoned once he starts to lower his skull to your breasts and you nearly yell, “Yes, Gaster, please!”

Your message made clear to him, he wastes no more time in teasing you, and opts to take one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue laps at the little bud, and it feels so heavenly you just may die here on the desk. His eyes are still trained on your own, even from his position at your chest, and the combination of his gaze boring into you with how his tongue feels against your skin is reason enough for your moans. He even multitasks, pinching one nipple with his hand as he licks and sucks at the other. 

Your legs unconsciously spread, your skirt hitched up by the motion, and you move your hands to his ribs to grasp at him harshly. You grip him tightly, and now it’s _his_ turn to groan. It’s a noise you could play on repeat for the rest of your life, it’s so perfect. Gaster’s voice has always been one of the most attractive things on earth to you, considering its velvetiness and the depths which it can reach, but to hear it like _this_ is nothing less than music for you. 

You’re running your hands along his ribs in an effort to get another noise out of him when you feel him reach between your legs. He makes a pleased hum at the fact that you’re already spread for him, flicking his tongue over your nipples as he caresses his way up your thighs.

God, is it shameful to cum when he hasn’t even gotten to your panties yet? You’re embarrassed by the thought of it, but you’re sure he’d enjoy it if you did. 

Dr. Gaster’s phalanges stroke over your panties and you could keel over then and there. It doesn’t help that you’re already soaked, let alone that he seems to know all the perfect ways to touch you. You just keep bucking against his fingers, and arching your chest into his mouth, and moaning incessantly, as if you were the one under a love elixir.

He doesn’t let your panties impede him for long, taking the fabric and practically tearing it down your legs. You feel your own wetness trailing from the fabric and coating your thighs as they’re pulled down, but your boss certainly doesn’t seem to mind it at all. With your underwear removed, he finishes the work you started in hitching your skirt up your hips and over your ass until you’re fully exposed.

And that’s when he puts both hands on your knees, manually spreading your legs as wide as they can go, and raises his head from your chest so that he can admire you in full. His eye-lights seem to roll back in his sockets when he lays eyes on you like this, spread and heaving and ready for him on his own desk. You can only imagine what his serum-riddled mind is feeling.

Gaster sighs, his hands rubbing up your thighs as he rasps, “Look at you, my dear… so slick and wet and _you’re all mine_. Your little cunt looks so _sweet_. If I weren’t so urgent to fuck you, and fill you with my cum, I’d be diving between those legs myself to lick you up. I could have you on my tongue for _hours_ , my sweet, for _days_ , even…” 

The thought of him licking you for days, making you cum on his mouth nonstop, shouldn’t drive you as wild as it does. You still have two and a half days left of this, at the very least. Lord knows how long it really is, considering the amount of the potion he drank. It shouldn’t excite you, the prospect of being in the lab with him for weeks, rutting away as if you’re in heat together (but it does).

It’s then that Gaster slides the phalanges of one hand up your slit, spreading your lips open to see even more of you. You shudder at the feeling of raw bone pressing against such a sensitive part of you, but you don’t want him to stop, not by any means. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and runs over his teeth, wetting them and making them shine in the light, and he starts to rub you slowly.

He’s gentle at first, as if he’s aware of how close and how touchy you are right now. When one of his phalanges sweeps over your clit your whole body lurches, and it feels so wonderful you damn near see white. You’re unable to control your moans anymore, especially when he silently, tenderly threatens to press a finger into you.

“I _adore_ watching you like this, darling. So responsive for me. I love how flawlessly beautiful your body is, how sweet your little noises are. By all means, don’t hold back for my sake,” He tells you. 

So you don’t. 

And with unrestricted, exploratory hands, you reach over and grab for Gaster’s belt buckle. His reaction is quick, with his gaze snapping up to meet yours. This time, you’ll stare right back at him, determined fire in your eyes. His mouth curls into a handsome smile of approval, before assisting you in getting the belt undone. After the belt comes the button, and then the zipper, and then you’re pulling on the pant legs for him to take the slacks off. 

With the hand that isn’t rubbing you and coaxing moan after moan out of your mouth, he tugs his slacks down and steps out of them. 

You wrap an experimental hand around his cock and the reaction is instantaneous. He growls your name, bucks into your hand, and groans, “Fuck, you’re _perfect_.” You’ve never met someone who thought you were so perfect, who said it so often and praised you like he has. You’re trying to keep in mind that it’s most likely because of the condition he’s in, but it makes you feel so _amazing_ when all he does is compliment you so. 

Dr. Gaster adds another finger within you and you arch into him, attempting to spread your legs even wider so that he knows how eager you are, how compliant, how wanting. The two of you huff out labored breaths together, your hands on each other adoringly, curiously. 

When you start to stroke him faster, he hisses, teeth gritting into a carnal sneer that only serves to get you wetter as he pumps his fingers into you. His phalanges feel strangely wonderful, with each knotted joint dragging against you so deliciously that your toes are already curling. Your grip on his cock tightens, and your thumb swipes over the head, spreading violet-hued pre-cum along his length. 

He curves his fingers within you, working them in almost a beckoning gesture, and that’s all you need to go over the edge for the first time. He hits all the right spots and your body’s pleasured in the most thorough manner. Your moans reach a pitch you didn’t know you were capable of, and without any other warning, you come undone on Gaster’s phalanges. It’s a feeling of utter rapture, of release in the most divine form that has your legs shaking and your back arched, all from his mouth and fingers.

“That’s it,” he coos to you, gaze enamored, “What a lovely, beautiful thing you are like this. Cum for me, darling, just like that.” He doesn’t stop his fingers, not until he’s coaxed every second of your orgasm out of you.

It takes a few moments for you to regain your composure, or at least enough to be cognizant, and when you are, he’s positioning himself between your thighs. He towers over you like this, but your flat pose on his desk makes it easy to look up at him. To ease his positioning, you re-spread your legs, allowing him to be as flush with you as he can.

However, Gaster sees this as a teasing point. With the hand that isn’t holding onto his cock he reaches down to pluck at one of your nipples, drawing another moan from your mouth as he chides, “It’s simply so easy for you to spread these pretty legs of yours for me, isn’t it? It’s because you’re _mine_ , dearest, all mine.” Despite the growl in his voice, his words only serve to bring warmth to your body, your face flushing pink at the implications. 

He positions his cock at your entrance, already nudging his tip into you. 

“Are you ready, my dear? Tell me how much you want me… how much you need me.”

You won’t hesitate, looking up into his dark eye sockets as you exclaim, “I need you, Gaster, I need you so badly. I need you to fuck me!”

The tall skeleton nods, a hint of a smirk on his skull. “Of course, my love.”

On hour twelve of the experiment, Dr. Gaster calls you his love and thrusts into you. 

Instantly, you’re crying out from a mixture of the pleasure and the pain. He’s started off slowly, easing just a few inches in, but it’s still enough to make your eyes flutter. You’ve never taken anything this large before, much less from someone you feel so much for. Naturally, it will take you a bit to adjust, and he seems to recognize that. His hands wander up to your waist, caressing from the band of your skirt upward, to your ribs and your breasts.

When he breathes out to you, his voice sounds strained. “There you are… taking my cock so well… and you feel _amazing_. So tight, and so wet, and all for me, darling.” 

With bliss on his tongue, Gaster leans down to kiss you. You eagerly accept, your arms curling around his neck and broad shoulders as his hands find their way back to your thighs. He squeezes your legs, swipes his tongue against your lips, and then sheathes himself in full. 

Immediately, the two of you gasp together, bodies quivering as you hold one another. Your pussy squeezes around his cock, only dragging another ragged moan from him. You had no idea you could take this much, and clearly, he wasn’t expecting you to, either. While his fingers dig into the skin of your thighs, yours dig into his shoulder blades, scratching at the bone as you both learn to accommodate one another. 

Little by little, the pain starts to ebb away, the discomfort whittling down to nothing the more you get used to his length. It helps that he’s so soothing, his body hunched over you in an almost protective position like this. He smells good, too, like cologne and distant scotch and something chemically that all whirl together for an addicting scent. You could breathe him like this for eons if you really wanted to.

“You feel…” you sigh, breath at his ear canal, “...so perfect, Gaster.” 

It’s words like those that make him begin to move. He pulls out of you slowly, both of you sighing at the sensation before he pushes himself back into you. Instantly you’re flooded with that heavenly feeling of being filled all over again, and you moan for him gratuitously. His pace is slow at first, but after the first few thrusts you can tell he’s holding back for your sake. How is it that he’s under the effects of five levels of a sex serum, and yet he’s still so attentive to you, so mindful of your comfort? 

Every move he makes is ecstasy, even down to the slightest twitch of a fingertip. You’re a mess beneath him, just as he promised you earlier this evening, with blissful tears threatening to prick at the corners of your eyes. And god, you can’t stop whining, crying, moaning for him. When you wrap your legs around his pelvis, he lets out a choked moan that’s utterly _addicting_.   
You tighten your grip around him, murmuring, “Fuck me harder, please?”

Well, he can certainly oblige that. You feel Gaster pick up his pace immediately, assuaging himself within you at a renewed pace. His cock fills you again and again, hitting at a heavenly angle that has you nearly wailing for him. This certainly seems to be doing more for him as well, with every hilt drawing an animalistic huff out of his mouth.

“Oh, _darling_...” he growls, voice teetering on the edge of a rasp. His teeth are barred, and his eye-lights look manic once again, “You feel _divine_. So divine I’m going to spill inside of you. Would you like that, sweetheart? For me to fill you with my cum?”

His words make your eyes roll back in your head. You’re instantly shuddering, your legs locking around him in an effort to will him to thrust faster, harder, deeper somehow. Every last little drag of his cock against your walls is perfect, every inch of his cock is just another level of bliss to feel. He’s incapable of moving without drawing a moan out of you.

“Yes, Gaster,” you breathe to him, and he picks up his pace. 

Your hands tighten onto him, your fingers curling in an iron grip of your own, just as he clutches at your body with his hands, hollow palms pressed to your skin. His pelvic bone hits the apex of your thighs with each and every thrust, causing you both to groan in unison. You’ll probably be bruised later, and your pussy’s going to ache, but oh, is it worth it. 

You’re nearing an orgasm for the second time, you can feel it, just as he’s nearing his first. He holds you tight to him, closely, and with all the strength you have you pull yourself up against him all you can. You need that feeling of his bone pressing to your skin, you need to know how perfectly you fit together, despite your size and species difference, all because it’s him, it’s him whom you adore, just as he does you, at least for now.

Gaster hilts himself within you for a final time, his last thrust powerful, and suddenly he’s grunting and spilling himself within you. His cum feels hot, and you can’t help but shudder in bliss when you feel him fill you like that. You don’t miss the way he says your name as he does so, right in your ear and impossible to mishear. 

Simultaneously you hit your own orgasm, cumming with your arms tight around him and his teeth at your earlobe. 

“Oh, fuck, Gaster,” you moan out, his name like God’s on your tongue. If you thought cumming around his fingers felt good, then this is an entirely different feeling. It’s a full-body experience, heat from your head to your toes that makes you fucking scream for the skeleton who holds you so closely to him, as if you’re something so prized to him.

He doesn’t let go of you even after you’ve both finished. For the longest time you simply lay there together, hands clutching each other and mouths peppering kisses to the sides of your faces. It’s an intimacy you never would’ve expected from him, especially under circumstances like this, but then again, you never expected him to use the L-word in reference to you either. 

You’ll accept it, though. You’ll take his kisses and his cock and his praises for as long as he’ll give them, because deep within you there’s a sense of dread for what’s to come when this serum wears off. Yes, it’s true that you both consented, and that he prepositioned you, but you can’t ignore that this wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place, this… _coupling_ you two have had tonight. 

You broke one of the only rules Dr. Gaster set for you. He’s probably going to berate the hell out of you once he snaps out of this. Or worse, he’ll fire you. That much is predictable, and if he does, you’ll understand why. 

The thoughts do quite the effective job of bringing you down from your post-orgasmic high, and briefly you think to untangle yourself from your boss so that you can get away from him and sulk in your own shame for the next two and a half days, but all this is interrupted when Gaster speaks to you.

His voice still sounds so warm, so flirtatious, so sweet when he says, “I fully plan to keep you like this for the next several days, as I’m nowhere near done with you. But first, my dear…” He kisses up your neck, to your cheek, to your lips, until you hum in acknowledgement of what he’s saying.

“Hm?”

And that's when he utters the singular phrase that's never made you want to deck him in the face more than you do right fucking now.

“Have you ever heard of the placebo effect? And to springboard off of that, are you familiar with the concept of sugar water?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in case it wasn't obvious from the last line, there was never any love potion, he was never under the influence of anything, this was all an elaborate plan to gauge Reader's interest in him ha)
> 
> This did take 2 days to complete, so I'm already a little behind on prompts. To make up for that, the next few days will be a tad bit shorter so I can catch up! 
> 
> With that being said, thanks so much for reading! You have no idea how much I appreciate each and every one of you.  
> If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)!


	7. Praise (Edge/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the edgy boi isn't so edgy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a brief delay, I'm glad to pick this back up. And I know, this isn't the typical route people take with UF!Papyrus, but god do I love some soft moments with him. As mentioned in the chapter title, the kink for today was "praise" and I hope I delivered on that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!!

It’s true that Edge didn’t seem like the “boyfriend type”, you’ll acknowledge that much. 

He hardly even looked like boyfriend _material_ the first night you met him, dressed so impeccably edgy at that concert you both happened to be at. It’s not every day you see a six-foot-something skeleton out and about, much less one dressed like his existence was sponsored by Hot Topic. Your friends teased you for staring at him that whole night, for finding him attractive and trying to wrangle his attention, but hey, “boyfriend material” and “fuck material” weren’t the same thing. 

At least, to you they weren’t. 

You managed to lure him in, with your flattering compliments and the way you kept bending over in front of him, but when he took you home that night (for the fuck of your _life_ , might you add), you sort of just… never left? The evening came and went with fireworks in your eyes, but when the morning arrived and you went to gather your things, the lanky skeleton just propped himself up in bed and asked if you were planning on going to breakfast with him.

It was all downhill from there. 

The months have passed, and the more you’ve been around him, the more you’ve grown to adore his loud, grating nature, to the point where you’ve considered moving in with him. After all, the whole driving-across-town to see one another thing has started to get old.

“DO YOU NEED ME TO COME OVER?” Edge asks you through the phone. You keep your volume low so you don’t bust your eardrums out.

You try your best to wipe your tears from your eyes, to recover from the god-awful day you had at work today, but thus far, it’s not doing you any good. Your desk job is draining, and half the time you wonder if you’re the only one at the office who really _cares_. Your efforts seem to go unnoticed, no matter how hard you feel like you’re trying. 

Edge has always liked that about you, though: your drive, your motivation, your passion, and he’s told you so several times. And you suppose he’s offering to come tell you that again.

It’ll take twenty-five minutes for him to get here. Getting old, indeed. 

“Please?” You ask, adding in a hesitant, sniffly, “If it’s not too much trouble-”

“NONSENSE, PET! I’LL BE OVER SHORTLY.”

But oh, what a long wait it is. You want so desperately to look presentable for him, to change out of the sweats and t-shirt that you practically jumped into as soon as you arrived home this evening, but you can’t bring yourself to do it when you’re so complacent as is. You don’t think you’ve ever _seen_ Edge in sweats, much less anything remotely comfortable at all. 

Nevertheless, you’re still in the same spot you were in several minutes ago when you hear the lock on your door start to jiggle, surely from the apartment key you gave to your skeletal boyfriend. You make some vague attempt to straighten yourself up, but at the end of the day, when he opens the door, you’re still on the couch, still a mess, and still with tear-stains on your cheeks and nose. 

“YOU’VE BEEN CRYING MORE,” Edge comments, ever so blunt. Oh, he’s threatening to open the floodgates all over again, whether he knows it or not.

You just un-ball yourself and hold your arms out, your voice cracking as you reply, “Yeah, no shit.” 

He’s there in an instant, scooping you up and pulling you into his arms. His presence is comforting to you, despite his aggressive, loud nature. You don’t know what makes him act different around you, when you’re alone together, and yet, you won’t complain. Why would you, when he holds you so closely as if you’re the most treasured thing in the world?

He even lowers his voice when he realizes just how distraught you are. You never thought he was capable of such a thing, but the more you’ve gotten to know him, the more he’s done it. “Those Cretins Don’t Know How Fucking Amazing You Are. The Absolute Audacity Of Their Ignorance Never Fails To Offend Me.” His phalanges find their way atop your head, starting at your scalp and then dragging down to the ends of your hair. 

“I don’t know about that, sweetie,” you sigh, offhandedly. It’s comical, you know, how _”sweetie”_ seems like the least suitable nickname for someone so intimidating-looking, but where there should be irony you’ve only found truth. “Maybe I’m just… not that great? Mediocre?” 

But Edge isn’t having that at all. “Well, Now I’m Even More Offended! How Dare You Insult _My_ Tastes!” He grips you by the shoulders, sneering only semi-playfully as he leans in, voice a hiss, “Because, Pet, My Taste In Partners Is _Perfect_.”

You flush at the word “perfect,” and from just how close his face is to yours. Your mouth is just centimeters from his sharp teeth, and though you can still taste salt on your tongue from your tears mere minutes ago, you can’t help but want to just… forget about all of it. Forget about how sad and useless you feel over work and lean into your skeletal boyfriend, even if that probably isn’t what he’s going for just yet.

So you do. It’s easy to lean in and let your lips graze his teeth; so, so easy.

With the motion, you find that his intentions certainly weren’t the same as his, as he initially stiffens at your touch, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t reciprocate. In fact, he responds in earnest, kissing you back the instant he fully gets a grip of the situation. His teeth press against your lips while he makes a low, pleasantly-surprised hum from the back of his nonexistent throat. His arms eventually move from their stock-still position, finding their way around to your back.

The best thing about kissing Edge, you think, is how he never half-asses it. It’s a blunt way to put it, you know, but of all the times you’ve kissed him, there has yet to be a time in which he’s only been “casually” into it, so to speak. When he kisses you, he kisses you with all of him. He moves a clawed, bony hand up to cup your face, pulling you flush against his skull and making you sigh into his mouth. The sharp tips of his phalanges threaten to prick at your skin, but he’s too practiced to scratch you (accidentally, that is).

One of your own hands travels up to his skull, fingers gliding over the scarred, scratched bone until reaching the point where the back of his head connects to his spine. He grunts when you grab him there, a sweet spot you found quickly in your bedroom endeavors together. 

“Perfect,” he whispers harshly against your lips, bringing that word to the forefront of your mind yet again, “You’re _Fucking_ Perfect.” His already-scratchy voice is hoarse, and the pitch he’s at drives you wild. While you don’t know what he’s getting at, you definitely won’t complain or inquire about it. He sounds too good, feels too good.

Your gaze on him is lidded, and as your breaths come out in needy, flustered huffs you begin to pull him down on you, with one hand still anchored at his spine and the other balling the fabric of his band tee in your fist. However, he pushes a palm down against the cushion of the couch, halting your descent. 

When you look him square in the face, with an eyebrow arched in confusion, he merely shakes his head. 

“We Aren’t Doing This On The Couch,” he remarks, tone firm. You follow his lead and get up, even though your head’s spinning with desire and you want nothing more than to stay right here and beg him to have you just like this. Something tells you he isn’t in the mood to punish you for whining, especially considering how soft his voice has gone.

You go to your bedroom, leaving the door open as Edge is quick to draw you against him for another kiss. You’re dipped backwards, his arm around your waist to keep you there as he leans down to accommodate your height difference. It’s searing-hot, the way his mouth grooves against your lips and continually crashes back against you for more, but this position isn’t meant for long-term affection. Your back is aching after just a few moments, strained, and you can’t imagine hunching over like that is good for him. 

You gracefully nudge at his chest with a few fingers, prompting him to lean back up to his full height. To this day, it’s hard to believe you’re dating someone this tall, and yet you’re swept off your feet every time he stands up straight. Instead of a kiss, though, he now begins to work at your clothes. His phalanges are instantly at the hem of your shirt, getting a grip and then tugging for you to raise your arms. 

Your shirt comes off, with no bra to be found underneath. His hands are immediately on your waist, starting at the hem of your sweatpants and then tracing upwards to your ribcage with the simplest, barest drag of his fingers. 

Edge stares down at you, crimson-toned eyelights seeing straight through to your Soul as he murmurs to you, “Look At You. The Most Gorgeous Fucking Thing I’ve Ever Seen.” He frames your breasts in his long, scarred hands, fitting them in the apex of his index and thumb phalanges. With your head tilted back you blink at him, surprised by this sudden surge of soft compliments. He doesn’t seem too bothered by your shock, though, only maintaining his intimidatingly handsome gaze and saying, “I Mean It.”

And without waiting for a response, he takes you to the bed. 

You’re bent over the edge, body in a perfect L-shape as Edge immediately starts to work at your pants. It doesn’t take much effort at all to get the string of your sweats undone and to then drag the garment down your legs, leaving you only in your panties. Comparatively, he’s extremely overdressed, still fully-clothed down to his impeccably-shone combat boots. You want to tell him to take his clothes off, too, or to turn and start on his shirt yourself, but before you can do so, he places a strong hand on your back, keeping you in place. 

His other hand reaches around and underneath your body to cup one of your tits once again, this time in full. You can’t help but shudder at the harsh feeling of his rough bone against your skin, your mouth falling open in a breath-taken moan. His phalanges graze your nipple, and your teeth dig into your lip. 

You hear a ruffling noise while his hold is briefly removed from your back, and then the unmistakable noise of his shirt falling to the floor. You don’t know how he did that with one hand, but you’ll definitely take it. 

He returns to tending to you almost immediately; this time, however, he lowers his entire body to be flush against your back. You can feel his ribs pressing up against your spine, thin but sturdy and strong. It may be uncomfortable to some people, bones pressing to skin, but you’ve always loved how it felt, solely because it’s _him_. 

Edge’s skull nuzzles into the crook of your neck, right where it joins your shoulder, and he plants gentle kisses along the bone there. You’re not used to such tenderness from him, seeing as from day one he’s proven himself to be capable of roughness that you never fathomed before him. Yet here he is, pressed up against your back, kissing to your shoulder so gingerly that you feel a blush working its way up your cheeks.

He’s tracing the edges of a phalange over your nipple when he just barely growls, “I Love Touching You Like This… Hearing Your Little Gasps And Moans. You Sound So Sweet, Love…” 

You instinctively whine at the contact, but apparently that’s just what he wanted. His ministrations only continue there, with his thumb rolling over your nipple in just that way that you like. Fuck, his touch is *heavenly*, and you can’t help but whine out for him again. 

All the while, Edge’s other hand is taking its time dragging down your back. You feel the tips of his phalanges ghost over your shoulder blades, and then to the top of your spine. His fingers descend so slowly, sending shivers up your entire body. 

If that weren’t enough, he starts to move his skull around to your back as well. His mouth follows his hands, pressing kisses to your tense muscles as he goes. It’s so fucking _soft_ , this whole ordeal, and you’re rendered helpless on the bed beneath him as he lovingly tortures you with kisses and drags of the finger. 

“And _Christ_ , You Have The Most Perfect Body,” Edge murmurs in between kisses. He pecks at the top of your spine, finding his apparent path as his phalanges lead the way. 

“Thank y-“ you start shyly, but he pinches your nipple between two fingers harshly, a not-so-subtle reminder of how powerful, how _painful_ he can be.

“Shut Up And Let Me Praise You, Dammit,” he snaps to you, and though you’ll oblige him, closing your lips and ceasing your objections, you’re smiling with your lips pressed to the sheets. 

His mouth is at the middle of your back, kissing your skin as you relish in the feeling of his teeth being so kind with you. You never knew he was capable of touching you like this, of being so gentle while still getting you so _fucking_ hot between the legs. You already want to spread your legs for him, but if he’s going to keep going at this pace, it’s going to take a while to get there. 

Edge mumbles against the small of your back, “How Did I Get So Lucky To Have Someone So Beautiful? To Have The Privilege Of Calling You Mine, Of Making You Mine Again And Again?” 

His phalanges slip past your rear, brushing against your pussy through your panties, and in the same moment he rasps your name, “I Am _Amazed_ To Please You.” 

A shameless gasp works its way out of your mouth, and you begin to gasp, “Edge-“ all the while starting to turn your body so that you can touch him, see him, _reciprocate_ this affection somehow, but just as quickly as you decide to turn, you’re pushed back onto the bed, right where you just were.

“No,” Edge snarls to you, “This Is For You. I Will Be Selfish Later.” 

It’s a foreign concept to you, simply lying there and taking it, as you’ve always been such an enthusiastic fuck. You’ve never thought yourself to half-ass things, or to even be passive in the bedroom. However, if the way your boyfriend’s been touching your back is any indication of the spoiling that’s to come, then you just might enjoy being pampered like this. 

It’s a struggle, but you’ll try to stay here. 

He starts to rub you through your panties and your legs shake. You know he’s got that wicked smirk on his face, you know it all too well, but you’ve always loved that look on him. He’s cocky by nature, especially when it comes to his _prowess_ , but you’ve never minded how he’s learned to use such an attitude for your benefit (as well as his). 

His phalanges caress your clit and you nearly double over from the heat that’s bundled itself there. You do let out a loud moan, one that surely widens his grin as he touches you. Edge’s fingers are deft, skilled, knowing just how to curve and press to make you squirm. 

“And You’re Always So Fun To Play With, Pet,” he compliments, punctuating this one with a deep-set drag of the finger along your slit that makes you shudder. “So Responsive. It’s Adorable.” He crooks his fingers and your knees buckle. 

It could be embarrassing, how close you are with your panties still on, but the slight humiliation doesn’t last for long. Edge is already at work on the waistband of your panties, bony fingers from both hands now hooking into the fabric before pulling without much warning. You can feel yourself dripping as your underwear slides down your legs, leaving a trail that sticks to the insides of your thighs. 

As soon as you’re fully naked Edge is pressing back against your body, the rough denim of his black jeans grazing your slit and making you shudder. There’s already a noticeable bulge in his pants, one that you start to grind against with all your need. 

He grips onto your hips tightly, pushing against your body as a low growl works its way out of your mouth. You can feel him trying to hold back, trying not to rut into you animalistically with his clothes still on, and yet you know he’s tempted to. But he resists the pull, instead replacing the ever-so-irresistible feel of his hard cock with his hand once again to rub you. 

When he curses, uttering a raspy, “ _Fuck_ , You’re Soaked, Aren’t You?” you just arch back and whimper for him, letting his sharp, pointed fingers wander up your slit. “And This Is All For Me? What A Good Girl You Are, My Love.” 

You push back against his fingers, another sigh finding its way out of your mouth as his scarred phalanges slip against your clit. The feeling is enough to make your head spin, just a touch of friction to have your toes curling. His bones feel so rough, even with the softest touches, providing a texture that feels utterly divine when he so much as brushes against you.

Edge pushes two phalanges into you and you have to catch your breath on how goddamn long they are. He knows just how to touch you, too, curving his fingertips in and out of a sort of come-hither motion as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. 

All the while he’s continuing his pampering, arching his body to yours and kissing up your back this time. His sharp teeth tease at biting you in the middle of your spine, but don’t, instead opting to stay gentle as he quietly groans into your skin. When he reaches that crook of your neck once again, with his fangs grazing you, he kisses your earlobe softly before hissing out,

“Let Me Tell You Just How Much I Enjoy Pleasing You. How Beautiful You Are When You’re Stripped To Fucking Nothing And Making Noises For Me. Let Me _Show_ You.” 

His fingers work their way deeper into you, and his pace starts to pick up. You know he’s waiting for you to give, for you to tell him you can’t take anymore and that you need him in full, just as much as you know he can read you like a book. Your hips are bucking on his hand, your mouth’s open in a near-perfect O, and it’s getting progressively harder to keep your composure.

So you whine out, “Please, Edge, please show me.” You can’t help how desperate you may sound, and you don’t think you want to help it. You’re living for the way he’s touching you, for his tenderness and his flattery. You want more of his spoiling and you want it _now_. 

You feel him nod against your skin, a dipping of his skull, and that’s when you hear him unbuttoning his jeans. The clasp clinks a bit as it comes undone, followed by the telltale noise of a zipper being pulled. You know he has to wrestle a bit with jeans that tight, but you don’t mind waiting the extra minute for him to yank them down his sharp, bony legs and leave them on the floor beside the bed. His briefs are soon to follow, creating a sizable pile of clothes at this point. 

And when Edge steps back up to be flush with your body, you can feel how hard he is. His cock couldn’t be budged, he’s so stiff for you, and just the mere thought of him filling you makes you quiver against the comforter.

One of his hands finds your hip to grasp at you as he lines himself up. “You’re Going To Feel So Perfect,” he snarls from above you, “You Always Do. It’s Like You Were Made To Take My Cock, Just Flawlessly.” 

His words make you shudder, face burning from the attention, and all you can do in response is spread your legs further apart for him to fit better. When the head of his cock nudges your soaking-wet slit, you instinctively moan, trying to back up against him and take him sooner than he wants to give himself to you. But he doesn’t scold you, doesn’t deliver a sharp swat to your ass like he typically does, instead only using the meticulous hand on your body to push you back to where you were a moment ago. 

That’s when he starts to ease himself in, hissing as his cock starts to press into you. He starts off slowly, with the two of you already huffing from the first inch of pleasure. When you turn your head to look back at him the best you can, his skull is flushed with a deep red color. 

You let out a moan as he thrusts further in, that singular hand on your hip keeping you both steady together. His cock is sizable, long but not overly girthy, and curved just enough to slip against you oh-so-deliciously with every movement he makes.

Edge is halfway inside you when he rasps to you, voice hoarse, “Just Like I Said. You Feel _Incredible_ , Pet. Don’t You Dare Hold Back On Those Noises.” 

And oh god, you’re already squeezing around his cock, causing the both of you to choke out scattered, incomplete groans together. The further he thrusts, the further he leans, until he’s back to pressing his ribs to your back. This is a more intimate position, too, than what you normally do. Typically he’d stay upright, grabbing a fistful of your hair and using it as a makeshift leash to ruin you in the best way. 

But do you fucking _love_ this, do you fucking _adore_ the sensation of every bone against your back and each lingering kiss he presses to your shoulder. 

When he sheathes himself, you both cry out simultaneously. Your nails dig into the blankets, soft cotton beneath your fingers while you huff in an attempt to catch your breath. He fills you completely, in the most thorough way you’ve ever felt. It’s a state of heavenly bliss that never fails to make your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Edge reaches up with his now-free hand to wind into your hair, gently stroking right at the scalp. Then he whispers to you, low and intimate and so sweetly that for a moment you wonder if this is even real, “You Are Mine. You Are Wonderful And Sublime And Heavenly And You. Are. _Mine_.” 

That alone nearly makes you cum. 

You’re sure he can feel your knees buckling, but he doesn’t comment on it, instead turning your head so that he can lean in and kiss your lips. You manage to move one of your hands up to cradle the back of his skull, pulling a moan out of his mouth. 

He thrusts faster, his cock withdrawing and then snapping back into you at a speed you aren’t expecting at first. His hipbones hit your ass, and under different circumstances you’d be bruised, but you think he’s definitely being more careful with you this time. Even if he weren’t, you wouldn’t mind, but there’s something so _amazing_ about the way he fucks you now. 

His thrusts are full, giving you his complete length every single time. You’re unable to stop the cacophony of moans and whines coming out of your mouth each stroke he hilts himself, sheerly because it feels too goddamn good. 

Edge hisses at you, “Look At You. You Always Take My Cock So Well. There You Go, Love, Take Every Last Inch.” And you squeeze around his cock again. 

The clenching is involuntary at this point; after all, he’s fucking you so thoroughly that you feel yourself nearing closer and closer to a climax that just may leave you with nothing but stars in your mind. You don’t try to fight it, though, because why would you resist something so graciously given to you, out of love and out of passion? 

He growls in your ear, a noise like music to you in your blissed-out state, and he pushes into you harder this time. Oh, he can tell you’re close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be picking his pace up. 

Each thrust knocks the breath out of you, every single stroke of his cock is a brush with euphoria. You’ll chase the high like it’s a drug, his touch and his pleasure something you’ll never stop needing. 

He tells you, “You Look So Beautiful Beneath Me, Taking This Cock. You’re Going To Cum For Me, Aren’t You, Pet?”

Your voice cracks when you moan in reply, “Yes, _god_ yes, Edge, I’m-“ However, you’re mid-sentence when he interrupts his current thrust with a new one, one that hits every angle as he presses into you, sheathing himself mercilessly fast and pushing you over that edge. 

You cum immediately from the sensation, your previous statement cut off by the lewd moan that exits your mouth. Your entire body quivers, limbs in a spasm as you’re pinned between your lover and the bed. Edge fucks you through it, though, your orgasm nursed by the ever-present nudging of his cock into you and his spare hand gently petting your clit. You feel as if you’re experiencing shockwaves, and all the while you can’t even stop whimpering. 

Several minutes pass, and you’re still a heaving, whining mess with your boyfriend’s cock still inside of you. He’s not fazed by it in the slightest, leaning to kiss the top of your head as you recover. You can feel him tense up every time your pussy squeezes him, though, and it prompts you to turn back to look at him.

“Wait, you didn’t-“ you start, but he interrupts you with a singular caress that starts at the nape of your neck and travels down to the dimples at the bottom of your back.

“Hush. I Can Be Dealt With In A Moment,” he explains curtly, kissing your hair again. “That Was For You. Because I Felt Like You Needed It.” 

And as he eases his cock out of you, at least for the time being, you turn over onto your back so that you can look Edge in the eyes. Your gaze pierces into his sockets, his crimson eyelights but a low, content smolder that comforts you. 

“I did,” you murmur while you spread your arms for him to fall into. He’ll pick his skull back up when he wants to pick back up where you left off, but for the moment, he lays on you, skull contentedly resting on your chest as you drag your fingers over the bone. “Thank you.” 

He sighs slowly, letting the exhale take its time out of his jaws. You swear his voice has never been softer. “You Don’t Need To Thank Me When I Meant Every Word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft Edge???? Soft Edge????? I love it. Got all the uwu's in this house tonight.
> 
> If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)!


	8. Masturbation Instruction (G!Sans/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating a musician is hard, especially when you want his full attention and he has practicing to get done. 
> 
> Luckily, G has a solution for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I get to write some G smut. He's definitely one of my favorites, but at the same time, he's one of the hardest to write, because he has to be so suave and so handsome like, ALL THE TIME. Awkwardness? None. Zero. 0% awkwardness to be found for Mr. G-spot over here. 
> 
> BUT, with that being said, I hope this was worth the wait and that you enjoy!!

Why is he so fucking attractive? 

G isn’t even doing anything, apart from sitting in his armchair by the bedroom window, but it’s as if he’s incapable of looking remotely _average_ while doing anything at all. One of his long legs is propped up, foot on the chair cushion while he stares out the window, unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He has his guitar poised on his relaxed knee, the acoustic Taylor today, partially covering his bare torso. 

He has no business, walking around the house without a shirt on all the time. Doesn’t he know it _kills_ you? You could stare at him for eons, taking in every slightest scuff on the bone. It isn’t like you can help it when his spine looks so elegant, when his slender ribs are so gorgeous that you’ve made jokes about dipping a few in barbecue sauce and licking them before. Oh, you are tempted.

And of course, he has to be practicing _now_ when you want him this bad. 

“It’s not fair!” you whine suddenly from your position on the bed. You’re on your stomach, your legs swinging up behind you as you watch him.

But he just grins with that award-winning smile, turning his head to look at you. For a moment he pops the cigarette out of his mouth to ask, “What’s not fair, angel?” 

“You aren’t,” you fire back, lips pursed. It may be childish, to speak with such a grumpiness to your tone, but you don’t really care. 

“What am I doing, though?” He prompts, his gaze all too _knowing_. It irritates you how perceptive he is, sometimes. G’s modest, typically, but that’s not to say he isn’t aware of what gets you going. On any given day, a concoction of his bare ribs is enough to send your mind to the gutter, but accompany that with the cigarette between his sharp teeth and that guitar of his, and you’re _ruined_. 

His phalanges idly pick at the strings of his guitar, a one-hand grip on the frets as he toys with a melody. It’s the same one he’s been trying at all afternoon, a more elaborate tune than his usual one-and-done riffs. He gets a couple of measures in before his expression wrinkles, an evident sign that it didn’t sound like he wanted it to, but the sneer on his skull definitely isn’t unattractive.

You suck in your cheeks, as if you were a fish, making a face at him briefly before answering, “Looking at me. Breathing. Existing.” 

“As if I could stop doin’ any of that,” G tells you, smoothly, forcing a blush onto your cheeks. His eyes are kind, golden and warm like cookies straight out of the oven. “Hell, I think I need to get you a little medal that reads _World’s Cutest Distraction_. Whaddaya think about that?”

You just snort, leaning up to sit on your knees. The hem of your shirt bunches at your hips, only this oversized because you borrowed it from him. It’s an older Bob Dylan tee, splotched with bleach marks that were surely unintentional but only serve to make the top look cooler. It smells like G, though, like smoke and that lemon-sandalwood cologne he always wears. Absentmindedly you tuck your head closer to the collar, breathing him in.

God, why won’t he just come over here?!

“I think,” you start, clicking your tongue, “I could _distract_ you for a little longer, say, hm… seven to twenty minutes?” You pair your innuendo with wiggling eyebrows. 

G sighs, “Man, I wish, kitten, but I’ve really gotta get this lick down.” His excuse is punctuated by his fingers on the guitar, positioning themselves on the frets once again and trying the melody once again. When he misses the mark, and subsequently curses under his breath, your toes curl in your socks. 

Even if he doesn’t seem to be budging, you have an idea. 

“But…” you whine, pulling your legs upward. Your hands find their way underneath the shirt, to the elastic band of your panties. Subtly, slowly, you start to pull.

The skeleton grimaces with his eyes still on the guitar. “Angel, baby, I’m sorry, but this has been bugging the _shit_ out of me. And you know good and well that if something’s distracting me that I can’t, y’know, give you my all. Just… let me get this down, okay, real quick, and then I’ll jump straight into bed and make ya see stars, alright?” 

Oh, you know how this goes. Your lover’s a focused man, which is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. This isn’t the first time he’s needed to do something ‘real quick,’ and it’s never as quick as he says he’ll be. You know it’d be better to be patient, to just let him get the hang of what he’s trying to play, but…

But you _need_ him.

You pull your underwear down further. They go over your knees, wet as ever, and down to your ankles so that you can tug them off. Ever so quietly, you throw them to the side, then start to position yourself better.

When you’re ready, you call out to him, voice thick with need as you say his name, “G…” 

“I-“ he starts, but when he looks up and sees exactly what you’ve done, and exactly what you’re showing him, his breath catches. He lets out a choked noise at the sight of your pussy, of your spread legs and his shirt hiked up to your stomach for you to expose yourself. Briefly, you see his skull flush golden, and he has to grip the neck of the guitar to brace himself. The cigarette falls out of his mouth and onto the floor, still un-smoked, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. 

In fact, it looks like he’s ready to throw his instrument down and play with _you_ instead. Fuck yes.

But then he exhales, a huff coming out of his nasal cavity, and his glimmering eyelights seem to settle themselves. His posture relaxes, and you’re anticipating yet another rejection when his mouth curves up into a smile.

“I’ll tell you what, kitten,” G starts, and you fix him with inquisitive eyes. He leans forward a bit, with his mandible propped on a closed fist. “I’ve still gotta get this finished, but I’ll still talk to you, try and help you out a bit. And if you’re good, and listen to whatever I tell you to do for me, then I’ll come take care of you myself. Got it?” 

Oh, he’s going to give you _orders_? You certainly didn’t anticipate things progressing this way, but you won’t complain, not when he’s smirking at you like that. 

“Got it,” you squeak out. Why does he have to gaze at you so confidently, so sure of himself? Confidence looks good on everyone, but it’s nothing short of stunning on him. It’d frighten you if you didn’t adore him. 

His hands resume their position on the guitar, one on the frets and the other on the strings, but he’s quick to nod to you as he gives his first instruction.

“You can start by leaning back a little, and pulling that shirt up above your chest for me.” 

You do as he says, grateful that he didn’t ask you to take it off entirely. While you’re more than eager to strip in front of him, you have to admit you enjoy having his clothes on right now. The tee rests right above the swell of your breasts, leaving you even more exposed.

“Good, good,” he commends you, one corner of his mouth tugging up further. His fangs are sharp, sharp enough to leave plenty of marks upon your skin, but they’re so flawlessly, pearly white that you always seem to doubt how rough he can get. “Now, spread your legs a little more. Let me _see_ my gorgeous angel.” 

When you oblige, spreading as far as you can, he’s quick to praise you. “There you go. Look at you, babe…” he breathes, just as he gives his guitar an experimental strum. “So beautiful, all spread out on the bed for me. I bet you’re just soaked, aren’t you?” 

“Mhm,” you whimper, feeling your body heating up and your face flushing. His eyes are on you but his phalanges are at work. With his fingers pressing down hard to the frets he tries the lick again, managing a few measures successfully before his grip slips and he misses a chord. 

G tells you, “I want’cha to start touching yourself, then. And don’t be shy, sweetheart, I wanna see you.” 

You oblige him, hand drifting down to your pussy slowly as you feel his gaze lingering. For someone who claims to be focused on his practicing, his eyes are _not_ on his project. A distraction indeed.

When your fingers first brush your clit, though, you can’t help the little gasp that works its way out of your mouth. Oh, you are _needy_ , that much is evident. You take a breath, trying to steady yourself so that your legs don’t twitch from just the slightest touch. It’s too early in this little game to be acting that desperate. 

You slip your fingers down your slit and let out another exhale. Your clit’s twitching with all your pent-up desire, and the feeling’s only amplified by G’s eyes on you. Despite your initial irritation at his hands-off decision for you, you can’t help but enjoy knowing that he’s watching you. He’s idly strumming at his guitar, trying the melody again, but there’s no question where his attention is. 

Smirking, you use two fingers to spread your cunt open for him, giving him the eyeful you know he’s been wanting. He said he wanted to see you, and well, you’ll deliver. 

It’s such an ego boost to see the resulting expression on his skull, to watch his eyelights flare a brilliant gold that threatens to overtake his sockets, to notice how his jaw tightens. 

“Oh, and I thought you said you weren’t going to get distracted,” you sass, lips quirking into a smirk for him. You keep yourself spread open for him, your fingers poised just as they are so he can get a long, hard look at you. 

G huffs out through his nasal cavity and counters, “Bold words for someone who was practically _begging_ for my attention earlier.”

“Cocky bastard,” you retort, teasing at your opening with your index finger. You keep your eyes trained on him and your sly little grin practiced as you push one finger into yourself, and then another. 

But he just laughs, “Heh, in more ways than one, angel. Y’know, you sure are talking a lot for someone who should be fucking themselves instead.”

You can feel your face reddening, and all the while he arches a bone-brow up at you in his own refusal to back down. 

“Push another finger in, gorgeous,” he doubles down, and after all, who are you to refuse him? You oblige, now working three fingers in and out of your pussy at a slow pace. The feeling isn’t comparable to if it were _him_ touching you instead, but nevertheless, it’s enough to pull a few soft sighs from your mouth. 

You’re soaked, in every sense of the word, and G’s doing nothing to alleviate and everything to aggravate your senses. As you pump your fingers into yourself, keeping your pace even, you stare across the room at him and want nothing more than for him to come over and take care of you himself. He’s merciless in the most suave fashion, though, keeping his hands on his guitar as if it were the easiest thing in the world. 

As he positions himself in an attempt to master this lick for the umpteenth time, he tells you, “You look so perfect right now, kitten. I mean it when I say you are the _best_ fucking view I’ve ever laid eyes on. Faster, please, and with your other hand I want’cha to reach up and play with those cute tits of yours for me.”

His words make you melt in your spot, his compliments only warming you further and adding to that buildup of fire within you. You let out a loud whimper as you finger yourself faster, the twangs of his guitar accompanying every moan you make. When you do as he requests and move your other hand to cup one of your breasts, your noises only get higher-pitched. You pinch your nipple between two fingers, legs threatening to buckle as you do so, and keep your eyes on him the whole time. Your thumb rolls over the pert little bud just as you’re moving the thumb of your other hand to rub at your clit. 

It’s three kinds of stimulation, plenty to get you close to the edge even if it’s just you touching yourself to G’s guidance. You couldn’t hold back your moans now even if you wanted to. The heat of his gaze on you accompanied with the nonchalance of his practicing, and the electricity of your own touch on your skin is all adding up. You arch off of the bed, unable to keep yourself still any longer. 

As you pinch your nipple harder, making a beckoning motion with your fingers inside of you, you can hear G try the melody once more. He gets through the first measure, and then another, and as you cry out for him again you realize he’s gone through all of them without a hitch. 

Amidst your pleasure you feel a hot swell of pride for him, sheer joy for him figuring out the lick right in front of you. For a moment you watch his sockets get larger in apparent surprise over his own success, but sure enough, when he attempts it again, his fingers flick over the strings and frets so flawlessly, not missing a single beat the whole time. 

“You did it,” you sigh out, vaguely aware that it may be silly to commend him on it when you’re naked and breathless and waiting on him. But he doesn’t laugh at you, or make some snarky comment about your state. 

G just grins at you, breathing out, “Yeah, heh, looks like I did.” He puts his guitar down on its stand beside the chair, and sets the clean cigarette down into the ashtray by the window. 

And in the next second he’s crawling on top of you, his body suddenly coming down on your own as if he were an animal in heat.

He crashes his teeth to your lips hungrily, mouth grooving to fit against yours amidst the force of his kiss. You gasp against his lips and his back arches, all from how _fiery_ he is. 

He’s always been a talented kisser, never failing to take your breath away with the slightest of little pecks, but oh, this isn’t one of those. This is a full, honest-to-god _kiss_ , one that engulfs your mind and soul and being so effortlessly. With every push of his mouth, every swipe of his tongue, you’re left whimpering underneath him. 

G’s tongue slips against your lips and you shudder. When he groans amidst the kiss, tone raspy and hoarse, a wave of heat shoots straight to your pussy. God, you love his voice, every handsome facet of it. Your tongue flicks against his and you spread your legs further to accommodate him against you, moaning with your own need. 

After all, you were so, so fucking close when he was finally able to put the guitar down a moment ago. Despite knowing this, he seems all too amused, talking coy in response to your little whimpers.

“Yeah, what’s the matter, angel?” He asks so sweetly, voice teasing as he works one of his long, dexterous hands between your legs, “Didja miss me touchin’ you?” 

“Mhm,” you whine, leaning up for another kiss, but he holds back, with one hand lightly teasing at your clit as his other hand fumbles with the button of his jeans. Oh, you could drool at the thought of what’s under the denim. You can already see the outline of his cock through the tight fitting jeans, hard and lengthy and ready for you. 

While he teases you, you use your own hands to pull your shirt off of you in full this time. There’s no use in it being bunched up; it’ll only get in the way.

He smirks down at you, smug as ever, and slides his fingers down your slit, drawing a gasp out of you. The way he rubs you is torturous, agonizing, when all you want to do is cum in a series of spasms. You keep your legs spread, bucking into his touch. It may be shameless, but your shame went out the window when you stripped and touched yourself for him. 

“My perfect, pretty little kitten. You’re so cute when you’re needy for me, aren’t you, princess?” 

In response, you let out an incoherent, pleasured cry. You know this is doing nothing but fueling his already-massive ego, but you can’t stop yourself. He slips three fingers into you and your knees tremble. 

“Well,” G chuckles, leaning down briefly to press barely-there kisses to your neck that could make you go feral from how much they make you shiver, “since you were _so good_ for me earlier, and _so patient_... I think I’ll reward you.” 

He finally gets the button through the eye, and the zipper’s down in an instant. His kisses continue down to your chest, and oh, how you could just cry from how good it feels when he flicks the tip of his gold tongue over one of your nipples. It’s only enough to tease you, to keep you right on that edge as he speaks to you.

“How about I let you cum all over my cock while I fuck you into the mattress? What about that, princess?” 

It takes every ounce of control within you not to outright wail to him, “Please.” Fuck, your voice cracked. You’re so close, and he isn’t doing you any favors by pumping his fingers into you and making you arch backwards with his tongue. 

G kicks his jeans off, his underwear coming off with them, and with that, you’re both fully naked on the bed. Momentarily, your eyes sweep up and down your lover’s body, surveying him as if you haven’t seen him like this so many times before. Your gaze meets his, gold eyelights staring back at you with more adoration than you ever fathomed you could earn, and your teeth dig into your lip. The sight of those strong, elegant ribs never gets old, no matter how often he’s shirtless around the house. He’s got a lanky build, with bony, pearlescent legs for days, but his hipbones flare out just a bit in a way that makes him look _incredible_ in those jeans he loves to wear. 

But you know for damn sure that you prefer him without them.

“I can’t wait to have you screaming for me,” G rasps to you, curling his phalanges before withdrawing them from you entirely and causing you to whine from the emptiness. 

With his fingers already slick from your wetness he wraps them around his own cock. It isn’t often that you’d use the word _pretty_ in reference to a dick, but god-fucking-damn, even his cock is gorgeous. It’s a bit above-average in length, but so purely-golden that you’re tempted to believe that it glistens in the light. You mentioned that to him one time and he laughed at you, calling you adorable, but good god, you can’t help but still think he’s perfect, even in this aspect.

He moves your legs up, positioning them so far back they’re nearly parallel with your chest, but so that you’re still comfortable. In anticipation of the depth you take a breath, looking him in the eyes all the while. How can he still look so cocky when he’s practically throbbing with his desire for you? 

Then, G moves his pelvic bone to be flush with yours, puts one hand on your waist, and pushes into you in full. 

And you come undone in that same instant. 

Fuck, it’s just too good. It’s enough to finally take you over that edge you’ve been teetering on for the past few minutes. A slew of moans finds its way out of your mouth, each one fading and then crescendoing into the next as you’re met with an overwhelming feeling of bliss. With his cock inside you, you feel full in the best, rawest way. You can feel your body shaking, and just as he promised earlier, you just nearly see stars. 

Though he isn’t yet moving inside you, he doesn’t stop talking to you, praising you through your orgasm as he pets your hair with his spare hand.

“That’s it, there you go, angel. That was all you needed, wasn’t it? God, you feel _so_ good, squeezing me with that perfect pussy, _fuck_.” 

He’s still hilted, but he waits so patiently, too, for your moans and whines to die down before he starts thrusting again. You do notice, though, that his breathing is labored, with his ribcage rising and falling slowly, and his expression is strained in an obvious attempt to keep composure.

But as soon as you come down from your high, your vision returning in full, he notices, and then launches into a fast, punishingly quick pace. 

Instantly, you’re back to square one, with the slightest feelings of overstimulation lingering on your cunt, but god, does it feel fucking phenomenal. Your moans return, this time accompanied by his carnal, deep grunts as he fucks you. With your legs up, he’s able to sheathe himself so easily with every single thrust, bottoming out in you in a way that has the both of you quickly grasping for each other. His hand on your waist tightens, while his other hand ventures up to shakily caress at one of your breasts. 

All the while you wrap your own arms around him, clinging to his spine and his shoulder-blades with your nails attempting to dig into bone. He hisses in pleasure, thrusting so hard his pelvic bone threatens to bruise your ass. 

“So good,” G gasps, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, you’re so- god, stars, fuck!” Though you know you aren’t in a better state than he is, not by any means, it does make you smirk to hear him lose composure like that. Even if it’s just for a second, any sort of verbal lapse from him is rare. He’s never one to stammer, never one to trip on his words or say something that doesn’t sound completely streamlined and suave…

Unless, that is, he’s fucking you. 

You moan louder as you take his cock, every single inch with every thrust. The way he’s angled you has him hitting the very best spots within you, to the point that your toes are already curling once again. And damn his perception, because even as he’s nearing his own peak, he manages to breathe out a barely-there laugh at your ecstasy-fueled expression.

“Hm, are you gettin’ close again, kitten? You gonna- fuuuuck, am I gonna make you cum _twice_?” Of course, in other circumstances, two orgasms can still be considered rookie numbers between the two of you, but when they’re back-to-back like this, hardly minutes apart, you’ll let his arrogance slide. 

“Mhm!” You whimper out, daring to reach up and lock your legs around him. If he weren’t already flush with your body, he certainly is now, and trapped there by your thighs. And better yet, you know what that little move of yours can do to him. He pulls out halfway and your legs pull him back into you, and now it’s your turn to smirk up at him. Of course, it isn’t long until your smirk turns back into an open-mouthed O, but he sees your expression for long enough.

G hilts himself again with a slam, gasps out your name, accompanied by a throaty, “Oh, fuck, I’m-“ but he cuts himself off with a deep, loud snarl, pounding into your cunt once more before releasing inside you. His mouth curls into a sneer, with all of his sharp teeth on display, looking borderline-angry as he does so.

You can feel every drop of him, hot and comforting in the most enticing way, and that’s when you find your own climax, your body shaking and your limbs clinging to his body even tighter while you pull him down onto you. His ribs come down tight against your skin, and his skull lands next to your own face. 

This orgasm isn’t as intense as the first one, but it is its own rush of hot, electric pleasure that still has you squeezing around his cock and moaning for him. Every time with him is lovely, you think to yourself, he _always_ leaves you satisfied in the most thorough fashion. 

Though he’s surely tired, G moves himself within you, shallowly thrusting for you to ride out your peak on his cock. His skull turns and he begins to press exhausted, yet gentle kisses on your cheekbone, your temple, anywhere he can reach with his teeth. And when he feels that you’ve come down properly, he pulls out, slowly, not enough to make you gasp or shudder or miss the feeling of him inside you. You unlock your arms and legs from around him, to allow him to collapse onto the comforter beside you. He lands with a soft thud, but quickly begins to fumble for an arm around you.

“Oh…” you whisper, slowly, as you try to steady your breathing. You watch your chest rise and fall, gently, as G strokes down your cheek and your neck. His touch is tender, with his phalanges slipping across your skin and body as if you are something divine to hold. You murmur, “Holy fuck,” and it’s the first coherent thing you’ve been able to utter in a short while. 

And from beside you, he mumbles, voice still hoarse from the white-hot strain you put upon it with your seduction, “Good?” 

He opens his arms slowly, so you can lie on him. It’s an open invitation, one that he doesn’t have to ask you to do, because you already know he wants you there. It’s an automatic reaction, finding your position on him, with one leg draping over one of his and your head resting on his ribcage. You suppose it’s just as mindless for him, too, to put one hand on your naked waist and for the other to find its way into your hair. 

His phalanges are therapy, his soft forehead kisses are medication. 

“Yeah,” you reply, a dazed, content smile working its way up onto your face, “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna need a walker for how weak in the knees this bone boy makes me. It's because he's a musician, isn't he? It's always the musicians, smh. 
> 
> Nevertheless, I thank you so much for reading and I truly hope you enjoyed it! If you like my work, consider giving kudos, comments, or following me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sansualfics)!


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